Champions of the Deep part 5: Destiny of Shadow
by Brother Andyn
Summary: A Saga of battle and adventure beneath the distant World's Edge
1. Prologue: Glintburg Burning

Champions of the Deep Destiny of Shadow _Scribed by Brother Andyn_

Prologue:

Glintburg Burning

The northern reaches of Glintburg danced with a fiery glow. The flames licked hungrily at the houses, setting fire to rooves and shattering windows. The clamour of steel and the cries of the dying echoed into the night. The panicked braying of horses rang and the thunder of hooves rumbled across the courtyard as Knights charged into a mass of ravening horrors.

It was the end of the battle. With this charge, and Sigmar willing, men would triumph over monsters.

Border Prince Magnus Glint rubbed his red-gold beard and sighed heavily. For the last eight hours his forces had battled viciously against the orc and mutant raiders. They had poured down from the Black Mountains, a tide of evil intent on razing Glintburg. They were led by a beast: Gulthor, Black Orc Chaos Champion, a monster with three arms, horns and built like a living engine of destruction. He had already ravaged much of Glintburg, slaying hundreds of soldiers in his bloodlust. And the traitor Siareth was helping him do it.

As he watched from the uppermost level of his castle walls, the bulk of the enemy army was broken beneath the flower of Glintburg's cavalry. Lances spitted goblins and threw orcs to the ground. Swords swept through the chaotic fiends with impunity. The fighting was not one-sided though. The beasts were tough, and many knights were pulled from their saddles and gutted. Magnus could see things with fang-lined jaws snapping and clawing at the armoured men. Tentacles slick with blood and slime writhed around the horses' legs, pulling them down and then slaughtering the knights before they could rise. Magnus grimaced, but he knew the knights were his last hope of saving his city.

If only his son were here. Surely his blade would be the finest on the field.

Finally, the knights forced the foe-beasts into a rout. The hooves of the horses became bloodied as they trampled corpses into the dust. Everywhere monsters were slain with stubborn determination, although the cost was high in the lives of men.

With a roar of defiance Gulthor ordered the retreat.

As the army of monsters fled from the wrath of the knights, a section of burning wall tumbled down, crushing one of the mounted warriors.

'Damn you Siareth!' Magnus howled to the uncaring sky, slamming his fist down on the parapet. 'A curse on you! May Sigmar strike you down!'

A lone rider, clad in black robes, galloped away from the burning city. The figure headed north, towards Black Fire Pass. When he was far enough away, he turned to get one last look at hated Glintburg.

'And a curse on you, Magnus Glint. I swear now that I will bring you down, and your whole damned city with you.'

2


	2. Chapter 1: The Demise of Sir Ragnar

I

The Demise of Sir Ragnar

The door slammed back against the wall and a man clad in red robes strode imperiously into the tavern. He wore a closefitting, leather skullcap and carried numerous pouches, bags and packs about his person. In one hand he carried a long, gnarled staff, a strange stone embedded in its tip.

'Drink!' The man demanded. 'Bring me ale! Now, old fool!'

The bartender hurried to comply. As he served the man, his gaze met with the stranger's green eyes. They glowed intensely.

'Who are you, anyway? I'll have no trouble here, warlock.'

'My name is Siareth, and you will do well to remember it.' The warlock sat down at the bar and took a swig from the tankard before him. 'Here,' he said, leaning his staff against the wall and pulling out 3 gold crowns. 'No questions asked.'

'Right you are, gov'nor,' the bartender nodded his head eagerly. He swept up the gold and bustled away.

Siareth glanced casually around the room. A flamboyant outlaw was talking to a young girl with a nonchalant air and a cunning grin upon his face. Perhaps this young man could be of use…

'You there, boy!' Siareth gestured. 'Want to earn a little money?'

The rogue's head snapped around. Taking his leave of the girl, he walked briskly over and took a stool beside the warlock. His garments were those of a dashing adventurer, with open waistcoat and airy shirt, complemented with the usual breeches, boots and hat pierced with a small knife.

'What did you have in mind?'

'Siareth, formerly of Glintburg,' the warlock introduced himself.

'Kurt Waldheim, formerly of House Waldheim,' the youth responded, shaking the offered hand.

'How about two hundred gold crowns? For the return of Sir Ragnar whatshisface.' Siareth thumbed at the notice pinned to the wall.

'Hmmmm…quite a bit for the rescue of some nobody,' Kurt mused. 'Very well, I'm in.'

'Good. I assume you're skilled with those things?' Siareth's gaze took in Kurt's two sheathed swords.

'Oh indeed. I'm perhaps the best fighter out of Barak Varr.'

'Barak Varr, eh? Well…if you say so. My magic can support your skills.'

'Mind if I tag along?'

Siareth turned to see a large man wearing a combination of mail and plate armour approaching them. A longsword was scabbarded at his side and a strange scar was visible upon his unshaven face. He had presence…an aura of a sort that exuded something akin to royalty.

'And who exactly would you be?' Siareth rasped. 'Two hundred crowns doesn't split into three.'

'I'm sure something can be arranged. I am Magnus Glint, son and heir of the Border Prince of the same name. I couldn't help overhearing and I think my blade could be of use.'

A cold look came over Siareth's face, before disappearing completely.

'And why exactly should we share the reward with you?' Kurt was indignant.

'Ragnar is also of Glintburg. I believe I could benefit should I get that useless fop out of trouble.'

'Very well,' Siareth said. 'We're the best chance he's got. Let's get going.'

'This is the place?' Magnus was nervous. Before them, a great maw gaped in the mountainside, filled with the blackness of deepest night.

'What's the matter?' Siareth sneered. 'You'll be a hardened veteran before you know it, once you've gone through the deep.' He turned back to the cave entrance. 'Coming, Kurt?'

'Indeed. Can't wait to get that reward, eh?'

The trio descended down a set of slimy, stone steps. Following that, a long, twisting passage was cut into the rock. They navigated their way through the darkness, Magnus' lantern swinging gently and casting eerie shadows that leapt and danced about the walls.

As they penetrated deeper into the labyrinth, fully expecting every corner to hide a lurking monster, they began to hear sounds in the deep. At first they were faint, slight tremors that bordered on near silence. But with each step they grew louder, and were accompanied by a high-pitched shrieking.

'Goblins,' Magnus hissed. His sword slid from its scabbard. Kurt readied his own blades, and Siareth began chanting slowly in the Lingua Praestantia, the language of the arcane.

Before them a narrow cleft opened up into a vast chamber. The party crept through, coming out into a gallery of sorts, overlooking an ancient, Dwarven hall. Broken pillars lay upon the floor, statues of Dwarven gods sprawled, desecrated and covered in goblin dung, and a swarming mass of night goblins clustered below, fighting amongst themselves. Their shrill cries split the dank air.

'Right, this is it.' Magnus breathed, his eyes flicking back and forth, searching for a way down. There was a crumbling, stone staircase to the left, shadowed by a group of pointed stalactites. 'Kurt and I will take care of the goblins, you Siareth…do whatever it is you warlocks do.'

'I'll agree to that,' Kurt replied, a strange look coming into his eyes.

As the two warriors stepped lightly down, Siareth frowned.

'Fool,' he cursed. 'You will learn of my power soon enough.'

With a roar befitting a great lion or other creature, Magnus plunged into the battle. His sword leapt out, cutting goblin heads from shoulders. Blood sprayed in gouts, spattering the knight's armour. Kurt's blades whipped left and right, lopping limbs and severing arteries. The goblins fought back with spiteful aggression, but their spears and daggers clashed from Magnus' tassets and pauldrons with little affect. As the clamour of battle raged, Siareth unleashed his spell. A firebolt sprang from the tip of his staff, incinerating three goblins and setting fire to some others. Shrieking, the burning greenskins ran about, trying to put out the flames but only succeeding in setting others' robes alight.

'That's the way to go, wizard!' Magnus chuckled.

Within minutes the last of the goblins had fled back down into their tunnels.

But Kurt had not emerged unscathed. Pulling a dagger from his side, he gasped and threw the weapon clattering to the ground. Blood seeped from between his fingers.

'I need healing! Warlock!'

Siareth sighed.

'There, that should heal up within the day.' A soft white glow drifted around Kurt's wound.

'Now where?' Magnus was impatent. 'Over there, that's where the passage continues.'

'Are you battle-able? Or will that wound prevent you…'

'I can fight, damn it!' Kurt stood and wiped his swords on his tunic. 'Those bastards will pay for this!'

'Very well,' Siareth replied. 'Let us hope they are as cowardly as their reputation makes them out to be.'

The cavern stretched out for miles. Unsurprisingly, the night goblins had regrouped for another attack. The outsiders, the intruders, however, were unfazed by the goblins' numbers.

'They're only goblins,' Magnus spat. 'Let them come, and taste cold steel!'

With another roar, he charged into battle.

'Does that man have no lack of courage?' Kurt winced. He twirled his swords.

'It seems so.' Siareth raised his staff and prepared to blast the goblins. 'Time to die, goblins!'

Magnus slashed his sword across the front of the goblin chief's throat. The blow took its head from its shoulders in a spray of blood. Spears stabbed at him from all sides, the wave of black robes quickly outflanking him. Unperturbed, he swung his sword in huge arcs, each swing killing several of the greenskinned monsters. He bashed outwards with his shield, flinging more goblins from him and his boots crushed another underfoot. These goblins were a little too easy killing, he thought. Hardly worth the effort at all.

Kurt whirled his blades. Each blow took down a night goblin warrior. He parried a blow, and thrust with his other sword, taking the goblin in the chest. It shrieked hideously as it died. Another goblin tried to stab him in the back. Twisting, he dispatched it with a single stroke, before turning again and slaying another with an upwards cut.

Firebolts rained down on the goblin horde. Living torches screamed and ran, colliding with each other as they burned. A whitish, sheening shield formed around the warriors, protecting them even more from harm. Siareth grinned. Honing their combat skills, even against such pitiful things as goblins, was essential for his companions. Especially considering his future plans for them.

Suddenly, a jagged knife tore into the warlock's concentration, biting into his leg.

In the rush of combat, Magnus hacked and slashed. Kurt likewise did not notice the warlock's plight. The warriors fought on, killing greenskins left and right, and suffering only light wounds in return. Kurt realised that the rain of fireballs had ceased. Looking back at the entrance to the cavern, he saw the red-robed man struggling with a black-robed monster.

'Siareth!'

Kurt kicked a goblin with his boot. It flew from his path and he sliced another's head from its shoulders and shoved the corpse aside. Clearing a path, he ran back to the warlock.

Siareth was bleeding heavily and was fighting against a night goblin clinging to his throat.

'You will not strangle me, foul beast!'

'He certainly won't!' Kurt twirled his sword, raised it above his head and then plunged it into the goblin's back.

'Get that thing off me,' Siareth groaned, collapsing to the stone floor. He began mumbling a spell to heal himself. 'Thanks, anyway, for the aid.'

'Anytime, warlock.' Kurt wiped his sword on the goblin's robes. 'Anytime.'

Ragnar was a pitiful sight. He clung to the bars of the huge metal gate, as if willing them to break of their own accord. He had been a knight, but that didn't influence the bars at all.

'M-Magnus? Is that you?'

'It is,' Magnus replied. 'I've come to…well, rescue you.'

'But I thought…'

'We're wasting time,' Siareth spat. 'Let's get out of here.'

'Agreed,' Kurt said, his hand opening and closing about his sword hilt. 'Our glorious reward awaits.'

'Two hundred gold crowns, as promised,' the militia captain said as he flung the leather bag onto the table where Kurt, Siareth and Magnus sat, in a private room. He strode out and slammed the door as the outlaw emptied it out and began counting. Nearby, Sir Ragnar stood in leather travelling gear, provided by the militia.

'And now I demand, Magnus, that you escort me back to Glintburg. I will pay you…'

'You've got nothing here to pay me with,' Magnus snarled. 'I don't know why I bothered. I should've known you'd make such a demand. You have no gratitude after all.'

'It is true enough that I have naught to pay you, but when I return home, I will…'

'Enough!' The knight slammed his fist down on the table. 'I've known you a long time, Sir Ragnar.' He got up and faced the noble. 'You dishonest coward, what were you doing in the Worlds Edge Mountains anyway?'

'There were rumours of a magical flame, that had…well, properties that your father…'

'Damn you and all of Glintburg,' Magnus roared, pushing Sir Ragnar backwards. 'I will not escort you home, you would not pay me at all. Instead, you'd wait till you were safely within the city's gates and then denounce us!'

Siareth had risen and was pacing slowly around the room. As Magnus and Ragnar argued, the warlock pulled out a knife from his belt.

'Then I will return home and denounce you for the renegade you have become,' Ragnar declared. 'I will tell his Highness that his own son has fallen to the influence of the Ruinous Powers and begun worshipping them with a new zeal that was so lacking when he…'

Magnus was about to interrupt angrily, when Sir Ragnar coughed blood, spattering Magnus' face with crimson. Magnus glanced down, and saw the small blade protruding from the old knight's chest. Siareth withdrew the weapon and the corpse pitched forwards.

'Was that…really necessary?'

'I thought it was,' the warlock replied.

'Sixty-six gold crowns each,' Kurt said jovially, dividing up the gold. 'Take your share. The last two shall pay for…our accommodation.' His eyes twinkled, but Siareth made a show of ignoring it.

'Good,' the warlock swept up his gold and Magnus did likewise. 'Tomorrow, I set off to look for these magical flames our friend spoke of. If you're willing, you may even like to…come with me.'

Siareth's eyes gleamed with unspoken power.

4


	3. Chapter 2: The Flames of Khazla

II

The Flames of Khazla

'_The Sword of the Deathking was elevated into the air and transformed. With a burst of brilliant white light and a crack of distant thunder, the Sword took on a new form and returned to the hand of Dieter. It was cleansed of its curse and instead imbued with bright, magical qualities. Indeed the ways of magic are fickle, for this was once a sword forged for death and unholy destruction. Upon its shining blade was engraved the name of the Wizard who had finally banished the Deathking for all eternity. And so it was named the "Sword of Dieter."' _

Excerpt from 'Forging of a Legend' by Brother Andyn

The knight, the warlock and the rogue stood before the ancient gateway into the mine. The wind whispered ghost-like around them. Written upon the crumbling lintel was a warning, in Khazalid. Below it was a rough translation in Imperial.

'Beware the rainbow flames,' Siareth read. He raised an eyebrow. 'This must be it, then.'

'I believe it is,' Kurt breathed. 'Rainbow hue, though?'

'My father has many books about such things,' Magnus said slowly. 'I think one of the Ruinous Powers…'

'Yes, the God of Sorcery, Tzeentch,' the warlock mused. 'Interesting. You know, if the Templars of Sigmar ever knew your father had such books…'

'I think he knows that, Siareth,' Magnus huffed. 'Come on, into the mine.'

As the party traversed the largely ruined dwarven mine, they were ever wary for the dangers known to lurk in the deep places of the world. The lantern's light bobbed back and forth, its aura welcoming in the threatening darkness. Time had no meaning, here in the mines, and they didn't know whether it was night or day. Bugs and rats scuttled away from the light, and the air was dank and foul. After a time, the walls around them began to change. Piles of headless bodies cluttered up stone doorways. Wooden poles supported the ceiling, creaking slightly when the adventurers passed. Stones had been heaped up in various places, fortifying sections of the tunnels. Although many of them were abandoned, the stench of goblin was everywhere. Every corner was an ideal place for an ambush.

Eventually, the would-be companions emerged into a small dell. The place was overrun by clumps of fungi.

'What's this then?' Kurt stooped and plucked a mushroom from where it grew between the rocks. It was red, with white spots.

'It's a toadstool, you dolt,' Magnus spat. 'Come, we're wasting time.' He moved down the passageway, following a familiar stink of unwashed bodies.

'Night goblins,' Siareth frowned in distaste. 'Must we always fight those horrid creatures?'

'Not their fault they've chosen to live down here,' Kurt said haughtily. He unsheathed his swords with a metallic ring. 'Be on your guard.'

'No need to remind me, rogue. They'll soon regret ever trying to best me,' the warlock snarled.

The Night Goblin warband was attending some foul business. Their clamour was shrill and ear-piercing and many of them were bickering in their own, vile tongue. Here and there a fight broke out, and goblins descended into bitter infighting over nothing more than who owned the bigger dwarf shield.

Magnus and the others looked out over the encampment from a rocky ledge. Grinning, the knight motioned that they should duck down, away from sight. Grumbling, the warlock and the rogue complied, confused as to what the knight was up to. Satisfied, Magnus picked up a small stone and hurled it as directly as possible towards one of the more important looking Night Goblins. It was a good shot, for the stone cracked the creature's skull and bounced off into the rubble. Immediately a fellow goblin span around and ran through another goblin with its spear, its eyes glinting madly. This goblin was then impaled in turn by another, and more goblins poured into the fight, eager to exact some measure of vengeance for the trick. Cruel, wicked cries split the air and soon the whole camp was thrown into turmoil.

As Siareth watched, he smiled grimly.

'A good ploy, Magnus. I wouldn't have thought of it myself.'

'Well, it saves us the tedium of killing them all,' Magnus replied. 'Although there's nothing wrong with that.' He glanced at Kurt.

'Fine,' Kurt snapped, sheathing his swords. 'Anyway, anyone see that shrine we're looking for?'

Once they had passed the battling Night Goblins, the passage seemed to broaden out and paved walkways replaced the crude paths. They entered a strange courtyard, bordered by leering statues of daemons and gods. Before them rose a huge dais, upon which sat a brazier of multi-coloured flames.

A stone tablet rested in front of the dais. Imperial letters had been carved into its surface.

'Here lie the Flames of Khazla,' Siareth traced his finger across the engravings. 'Whomsoever thinks he is worthy, place thy hand within the flames, and draw forth that which thou desires.' Siareth's eyes lit up. As the others watched, he made to reach into the flames.

'Wait,' Magnus grabbed the warlock's arm. 'It also says that should you be "unworthy"…'

'I'm touched,' Siareth spat, wrenching his robes away from the knight. 'Thou will be marked by fire. Those who are unworthy get burnt.'

'A very painful injury,' Kurt added, uneasily. 'The heat is immense. As soon as we entered the room I could feel…'

'Enough! I am worthy.'

'Then I will go first,' Kurt protested. Before the warlock could protest, he clenched his teeth and plunged his arm into the brazier. A howl of agony ripped itself from his lips and he staggered away, clutching his burnt arm. 'I told you, warlock…'

Magnus was the next to try. He was not burnt, but brought forth a gleaming dagger. It looked like a short, brutal knife, something crafted by an orcish hand. Yet it was light, and weighted for throwing.

'I wonder what this can do.' Magnus glanced at the faint blue runes scratched into the wide blade.

While Kurt busied himself bandaging his forearm, and Magnus was occupied with his new knife, Siareth stood before the brazier. He closed his eyes, and, slowly, breathing a prayer to the gods, lowered his arm into the brazier. At once the flames licked and danced, but they didn't burn. Suddenly his hand closed around something hard and bound with leather. Gritting his teeth in exaltation, the warlock drew forth a sword that glittered with many-coloured lights. Upon its blade was etched a series of arcane runes.

'This…Blessed Sword will bring us great fortune. That I promise.'

All three renegades gazed in wonder at the sword. It drew their attention like a flame reeling in a moth. Strange tendrils of power seemed to emit from the blade, and Siareth fancied he could see a face staring back from within.

Breaking his gaze away, Magnus picked up his shield.

'That's some sword you've won.'

'So your father…wanted this thing?' Kurt stammered, entranced. He stumbled closer. 'No wonder…tis a pretty weapon indeed…' Without warning, he lurched forwards and tried to wrench the sword from Siareth's grasp.

'No, it's mine,' Siareth roared, pushing Kurt away with his staff, knocking the rogue to the ground. 'Find your own, magic sword.'

Kurt's eyes flashed and he seemed to come to his senses. Shaking his head, he stood up and brushed off his jacket.

'Right, then, I'll be off. Have fun with your new toy.' He made to storm away, but Magnus stopped him, stepping in front of him with sword drawn.

'You cannot go back on your own, Waldheim,' he grunted. 'Tis madness.'

'Oh, I think old Siareth can manage all right,' Kurt spat. 'He's got a new…'

'Go, then, Kurt Waldheim,' the warlock sneered. 'I'll more likely make it back than you.'

'Fools! Look, we have to trust each other here. If we split up we're dead men, all of us.'

Siareth and Kurt rounded on Magnus.

'I came here for the flames,' Siareth snarled. 'It was your choice to join me. Now we've found them. End of story.'

'As the warlock said, we found them, knight,' Kurt replied. 'I'm off to find some actual treasure.' The outlaw pushed roughly past the knight, heading for the doorway. Siareth strode forwards, wielding his new blade in one hand, the staff in the other.

'Siareth. Siareth, I remember you.' Magnus said coldly. 'Before I left Glintburg you were the advisor.'

'What of it, Glint?'

'Don't call me that, warlock. Magnus is enough.'

'Stand aside, and let me pass. Our brief comradeship is over. I go to murder your father.'

Kurt paused in the doorway, listening intently. His hands fondled with the hilts of his swords.

'Oh you do, do you?' The knight's beard was bristling. 'Well, take this before you go!'

The knight's sword swung up, only to be parried by the Blessed Sword. A crackle of blue lightning danced across the blade. The blue light mingled with the rainbow lights cast by the flames and suddenly Magnus knew he could not attack the warlock. A voice, deep and evil, struck into his mind, unbidden. It seemed to emanate from the sword.

Magnus fell to his knees, his armour scraping the flagstones. His sword fell with a clang and he put his hands to his head.

'What…what is this sorcery?'

Siareth grinned.

'It is simply the sword, my friend. It is very powerful. I would advise against raising your blade against me, in future.'

With a flash, the spirit had retreated back into the Blessed Sword.

'What was all that about?' Kurt demanded, walking back into the chamber.

'None of your business, rogue,' Siareth snapped. 'Now, either follow me or don't. I return to Aldenheim.' With a flurry of red robes, the warlock swept from the room.

The greyish buildings of Aldenheim squatted around a central courtyard, a clock tower and the town hall. Numerous other traders and merchants halls dotted the small township, including the infamous Red Lotus, where Magnus regularly visited. Kurt exited the Gambling Den and yawned. He looked up at the dark sky above, glinting faintly with diamonds. He had survived the return trip from the Flames of Khazla, as had the others. They had pretty much followed each other, determined to stick together for the sake of mutual benefit, rather than for any feelings of friendship or other romantic notions. Kurt had no problem with it; at least he had got out alive. That's all that mattered. Come to think of it, it would've been good to stick with their company, for a while. More glorious adventures, gold and untold evils to fight; that would be a good living. Dashing around on heroic quests was not his style – he was after all still being hunted. In fact being heroic was rather offensive to him. But here, in the anonymous town of Aldenheim, here in the foothills of the Worlds Edge, who was likely to find him? And if he were to go searching for treasures and riches, that left even less chance of being caught. He wondered if there was a chance that Siareth was still in town…

'Rumours abound of the Talisman of Lore,' Magnus told Kurt eagerly. The two adventurers sat at a worn table in the tavern. 'We must get it. It was once the property of a powerful sorcerer, and is extremely coveted. It will fetch us no less than, wait for this…six thousand crowns!'

Kurt could only gape in astonishment. He opened his mouth, shut it, and then opened it again.

'Six…six…six thousand? But that's…that's incredible! For some rusty old…'

'It must be very, very powerful. Perhaps we could…liberate it again once we've been paid…'

'I see the usefulness of that,' Kurt said slyly. 'But one problem. We need that warlock, Siareth, to pull it off.'

A strange force had entered the knight's mind ever since the incident, two weeks ago. His nights were filled with visions of darkness and mist…shadows mingled with his daytime thoughts. Now, that force exerted itself once again, as he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head.

Something was clearly not right. But Magnus had to accept the warlock's company again.

'Magnus…is something amiss?'

'No,' Magnus blinked. He spent a moment looking dazed and confused. Kurt bought him another drink and he sloshed the alcohol around in his mouth. 'I'm fine. Very well, let's find the warlock.' He put a gauntleted hand out and stopped the outlaw's hand. 'And I'll have my gold back too.'

In the wilderness, Siareth sat cross-legged in a circle drawn out in the dust. Candles, burned down to their stumps, flickered eerily and the wind whispered upon the night air. He closed his eyes.

'Come, my friends, come to me. Together we shall claim the treasure of Melar's Maze.'

They could do what they liked with the gold. The Talisman of Lore would be his.

4


	4. Chapter 3: The Talisman

III

The Talisman

The three outcasts gathered in the woods not far from Aldenheim. Three unfamiliar figures stood at the edge of the clearing. One was tall, broad and clad in the bronzed, full plate armour of a knight. His eyes held within them the glint of inhuman evil. The tip of a massive, double-handed sword was embedded in the ground near his gauntleted hand. The second man was clearly a noble, his clothes and demeanour marking him out as a typical aristo. An expensive pistol hung from his belt and over his shoulder he rested a slender rapier. The last figure wore an open helmet and was swathed in dark robes, beneath a shimmering hauberk of chainmail. A cruel sword was sheathed at his side, and one look at his ears revealed that he was an elf, pallid of complexion and narrow of eye.

'Now that we're all here,' Siareth announced, 'let me introduce our new friends.'

He motioned with his hand, and the knight tugged his greatsword from the earth and stepped forwards.

'This is Siegfried Von Petrovic, former knight of Tatiana. He has personally slain a vampire and his skills with the blade will surely come in handy. Soon enough.'

Then the noble swaggered into the clearing.

'Lord Merideon, of House Grunberg, is also a master swordsman. The pinpoint accuracy he uses on opponents' throats will be of much use to us.'

Finally the elf strode forwards, removing his helm. Something snapped within Kurt and his face twisted into outrage.

'What is the meaning of this?' The outlaw barked snootily.

'My apologies, Kurt,' Siareth snapped. 'But Malius Khalesh can provide qualities no one else here can.'

'Indeed,' Malius hissed. 'Do you have a problem with that, human?'

Kurt gave voice to a roar of rage and charged forwards, his blades whipping from their scabbards. Instantly, Lord Merideon and Magnus held him back like a slavering hound on the leash.

'Now now, Kurt,' the warlock chuckled, 'I'll have no infighting here. The Red Wolves are meant to be Aldenheim's saviours.'

'Red Wolves?' Magnus narrowed his eyes. 'What do you mean?' Siareth exchanged looks with each of his new comrades, one by one. Striding to stand atop a small hillock, he blinked and addressed them all.

'As you know, we are all gathered here to claim what is rightfully ours. Or…what is mine, actually. The Talisman of Lore is a powerful artefact. Should it fall into the hands of…fools, what sort of catastrophe might that bring? The authorities in Aldenheim have done nothing to recover this piece of precious history. And the reward in gold for the Talisman of Lore is too great. The gold will be yours! Now is the time for us to act, my friends. Now we can free the town from the iron rule of its tyrannical burgomeister and idiot councillors, and claim what will be ours. Now is our time.'

From the steps, the six comrades in arms could see the labyrinthine passages of the maze laid out before them. It sprawled, like a stonework cancer, its walls twisting and turning in every direction. Mists scudded across the maze, concealing sections of it from view.

'Take a good look at it, my friends,' Siareth drawled. 'When we enter you won't be able to see where we are at any given time.'

'I see,' Siegfried grunted, hefting his greatsword. 'Nevertheless, none shall stand before my blade.'

'We'll see about that, warrior,' Kurt jeered. 'There are monsters whose chill passes mundane armour.'

'At least he's wearing armour, human scum,' came the burning voice of Malius. Kurt's face grew dark but this time he was able to contain his hatred.

'Enough bickering,' Magnus retorted, clashing his sword against his shield. 'Time to go. Think about the gold.'

'Well said, Magnus,' Merideon concurred, drawing his slender rapier from its leather sheath. 'My sword-arm grows hungry.'

Four hours later, the noble's rapier was slicing bloody lacerations across the rotting body of a foul zombie. As the head fell from the corpse and a wealth of maggots spilt upon the flagstones, Merideon pulled a kerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose.

'For the love of Sigmar,' he gasped.

'Perhaps you should be in a royal courtroom, not in a maze five hundred feet underground,' Magnus hissed, slashing a ghoul's torso in half and shouldering aside the remains.

The greatsword of Siegfried Von Petrovic hacked and slaughtered everything in its path. The massive blade severed spines, sent ghouls shrieking to hell and lopped their heads like an engine of death. He fought silently, not a word uttering from his lips. The Dark Elf fought alongside him, cruelly sharp blade whirring. Nothing could touch him, though his shining hauberk was spattered with blood. He moved with unbelievable speed, even for an elf.

Kurt watched the Druchii with rage, even putting himself at risk while defending himself from an undead beast's ravenous attack. Jumping back at the last minute, he sliced through the ghoul's wrists, unleashing a fountain of blackish blood. His boot lashed out and kicked the howling creature to the floor, its limbs thrashing.

'How much more do we have to put up with this?' He yelled above the battlesound.

'Until they are dead, I would think,' Siareth said grimly as he sent a firebolt into a pouncing ghoul. The flaming beast soared over the warlock's head, screaming. Just to ensure that it died, Siareth unsheathed the Blessed Sword and sent it's blade shrieking through the creature's neck.

The chamber was empty, save a few cobwebs and dust clinging to an old, dilapidated throne against one wall. As the party crowded into the small room, armour and weapons clanking and jingling, Siareth waved his staff in a slow arc. The tip began to glow faintly, with a reddish energy. When the stone pointed towards the throne, it pulsated brightly with a bloody light.

'The chair,' Siareth ordered. 'Move it now.'

Hastening to obey, Siegfried and Magnus sheathed their swords. Grunting in exertion, they lifted the weighty throne and dropped it a foot or so to the left.

'By Barak Varr, a secret door!' Kurt exclaimed.

'Indeed,' the warlock replied. 'Come, the Talisman must be through here.'

Down three dusty corridors and into another room the comrades tramped, making as little noise as possible. Yet this was difficult, as their number was above the norm for such adventures.

'Do you have to make such a racket?' Siareth hissed at the huge knight. 'We may as well declare we're coming loud and clear.'

'I agree, Siegfried,' Malius spat. 'Keep it down, chances are every undead beast in the entire complex is on its way.'

'Hold your tongue, Druchii,' Siegfried snarled. 'Remember your…'

'What was that?' Kurt butted in, tired of the constant infighting.

'What, Waldheim?' Magnus lifted his visor. 'I can't see anything.'

'Of course you can't, knight,' Merideon sneered. 'With that helmet…'

Two doors faced them. One was banded with brass. The other was cloaked in shadow.

'That door. The laboratory must lie beyond.' Siareth was practically panting with anticipation. As the group of renegades bustled towards the portal, a strange, barking noise assaulted their ears, followed by the crack and grinding of stone.

Two red eyes gleamed in the blackness. Then an earth-shattering roar split the air, and a thunderous tremor shook the walls as something large and dangerous powered towards them.

'What in the name of…' Siegfried started. 'I'll hold it off. You lot get in there!'

A massive beast of stone burst into the lantern light. Its wings spread wide, and in one massive fist it clutched a jagged sword that burned with hellfire. Its other paw grasped a serpentine whip, which cracked and lashed the air above its head.

'Prepare to be sent back to hell!' The bronze-armoured knight's voice echoed from within his helm. As the party unsheathed swords and beat at the door, Siegfried backed away, trying to find an advantage point from which to attack the beast. He had little time; as the gargoyle's blade came flaming down to meet his weapon. A burst of sparks lit up the dungeon.

'A gargoyle,' Siareth breathed, 'fascinating.'

'Move!' Magnus shouted as the doorway cracked inwards.

As the clash of steel on stone rang ear-numbingly loud, the other adventurers hurried into the room beyond.

Bookcases lined the shelves. Dusty rolls of parchment, bottles of strangely coloured liquids, skulls, runes and other paraphernalia lay scattered on a wide, wooden table. There was also a cloth that looked suspiciously like human skin.

But none of these things attracted the warlock. In an instant he was at the table, snatching up a bright red gemstone, decorated with a snarling, human face. It was the Talisman of Lore.

'Now Aldenheim will fall!' A sinister laugh ripped from Siareth's throat. He raised his fist into the air, clutching the gem, which glowed with terrible luminosity. Lightning flashed from the darkness above, connecting with the talisman and filling it with power. The warlock's insane laughter filled the air, drowning out the din from outside as Siegfried continued to battle the stone monster. In a thunderous nova of bloody radiance, the lightning disappeared and the gem became a quiet bauble in Siareth's hand. Grinning madly, an otherworldly gleam reflecting in his eyes, he turned to the stunned renegades.

'Yes, my friends, Aldenheim will fall. And we shall be its new masters.'

Siareth stood atop the clocktower, gazing down at the burning ruins of the Aldenheim Barracks. He let out a short snarl of laughter as he let his mind linger on the afternoon's events.

The warlock and his warriors had marched back into the town, flushed with victory. Siareth pictured himself striding imperiously up to the Militia headquarters with the party at his back, demanding that they open the gates and surrender their captain. He had declared that the town's leaders were corrupt worshippers of the Ruinous Powers, and had roused the townsfolk into an angry mob. It didn't take long for them to believe his story, as they had been suffering for years under the aristocrats' iron rule. With the Militia summarily dealt with, and their captain executed, a public hanging was then staged in the square. All the elders, the burgomeister himself and any who resisted the Red Wolves' rough justice were eliminated.

'People of Aldenheim,' he had shouted at the gathered townsfolk. His bodyguard surrounded him, the five members of the party looking like rugged heroes to the men and women below, regardless of their outlandish clothes and roguish appearance. 'We have given you your freedom! No more will these cultists rule your downtrodden lives with brutality and oppression! A new era has begun, one of…freedom and prosperity! Accept us, your new masters, and you will enjoy much wealth and fortune. Long live Sigmar!'

A cheer echoed from the people. Clearly, they had the support of the populace. That was a good thing.

A slight smile creased the warlock's features. Around him stood Lord Magnus, Lord Kurt, Lord Merideon, Lord Siegfried and Lord Malius: the new masters of Aldenheim, a free town in the foothills of the Worlds Edge. This was their base of operations, their bastion of defiance. This was their town.

4


	5. Chapter 4: The Lure of Chaos

IV

The Lure of Chaos

'Karlen Von Stauf has gone missing!' The messenger shouted, reading from his parchment. 'He is one of the Emperor's favourite wizards, and will be greatly grieved for should he be found murdered. His Imperial Majesty has declared that a reward of one hundred gold crowns will be paid to anyone who can return Von Stauf safely.'

'Where was he last seen?' Siareth, wearing the Burgomeister cloak and honours, asked.

'The old temple of Sigmar ruins to the east. It was believed he was going there to find something.'

'We are all humble servants of Sigmar here. Perhaps you should let it known throughout the other settlements between Aldenheim and Altdorf that the matter is taken care of.'

'Are you saying,' the messenger began.

'Yes, man, we can rescue your wizard. Consider it done.'

'You seem very confident. How can you be sure…'

'Know that Sigmar guides us, and that we will find Karlen Von Stauf. Perhaps even spread the word that if anyone needs good people such as us…'

'I will bear it in mind, master Siareth,' the man smiled. 'May Sigmar's light guide you always.'

Siareth narrowed his eyes as the messenger turned his horse and galloped away through Aldenheim's gates.

The rogue and the warlock stood in the town square.

'I say, how about we train up these people,' Kurt suggested. 'We could get them all ready to use a blade if required.'

'An interesting concept, Kurt Waldheim,' Siareth mused. 'You're competent that you and Merideon could teach them?'

'Indeed, our skills with the sword are unsurpassed in these parts.' Merideon strode up, dusting off his gloves. 'We could have a small army in a few days time.'

'That's a bit ambitious,' Kurt replied, 'but I dare say we could have them ready in a few weeks.'

Siareth smiled.

'Very well, you two train up whoever is able to wield a blade, I will take the others to find this Karlen.'

As Siareth, Magnus and Siegfried mounted up and exited through the eastern gate, their horses kicking up a small stream of dust in their wake, Kurt and Merideon loosened their blades in their scabbards. The sun shone down from above and the air hummed with warmth.

'Well, let's get down to business, shall we?' Kurt span on his heel and started strolling towards the militia ruins.

'Must take advantage of this glorious weather, eh?' Merideon agreed, joining his friend.

The pair was approaching the barracks when a dark form slipped from between the doors and the flash of steel glinted.

'What's this?' Kurt raised his swords and held them, point first. 'A assassination attempt?'

'You could call it that,' a dry voice sneered.

'Malius Khalesh,' the noble replied, his voice full of contempt. 'Why are you not with the others?'

'You really think I'm the type to go rescuing wizards?'

'Then what is the meaning of this, elf?' Kurt was visibly shaking with rage. 'Put up your blade, before I…'

Merideon could see what was going to happen.

'Enough. We are training the peasants today. Will you join us, Khalesh?'

'You must be joking, human,' the dark elf scoffed. 'I train humans? I was actually intending to put a stop to this. After all, what's one Druchii in a town full of trained soldiers? I don't think so.'

'You mean they'd be a threat to your slimy hide!' Kurt snarled, moving forwards warily.

'Well…'

Before Merideon could intervene, the dark elf leapt, his blade slicing through Kurt's shoulder. Kurt gasped but lashed out with one of his swords, taking the elf in the back. Malius span and the combatants circled, each looking for an opening. Merideon backed off, fearing the outcome of this encounter. If the dark elf won…

Without warning, Malius attacked. To the outlaw's credit he threw up both blades, crossing them and deflecting the dark elf's sword. Quickly, he kicked out with his boot, producing an audible crunch as it met with Malius' stomach. The elf stumbled backwards but before Kurt could advance he was on his feet again, blade whirling. Kurt was hard-pressed to parry each blow, and he suffered several light wounds as the cruel blade slashed at his jerkin and breeches. The outlaw was driven back towards the wall. Unrelenting, Malius increased his ferocity, his incredible speed deflecting Kurt's parries in a squall of steel.

Merideon could no longer stand by and watch. As Kurt's back thumped into the wall, and one of his blades was ripped from his hand, he plunged his rapier straight into the dark elf's arm.

'Back off, Druchii scum!'

Malius gritted his teeth, blood spurting from the injury. As he stepped backwards, Kurt seized his opportunity and shoved Malius away. The elf fell with a flurry of chainmail and dark robes.

'We'll be slapping the peasants around, if you need us,' the noble spat.

The clamour of battle raged around the small chamber. More skeletons dug their way from the cold earth, battering aside the cracked and decaying flagstones. Green witchfire glowed in their eye sockets and they raised rusted swords and axes in withered, skeletal limbs.

'Take that, undead beast!' Magnus roared as he dispatched another horror with a swing of his blade. The bones crumbled to dust and he twirled his sword, taking another two down with one blow. He was a whirlwind of death. Bones flew from him and scattered about, splintered and severed like twigs. The blade of Von Petrovic faired just as brilliantly, smashing through ribcages and shattering skulls with brutal efficiency. Entire skeletons toppled, their spinal columns cut through so that the whole upper body fell.

'Well, we now know what befell Karlen Von Stauf,' Siegfried hissed through gritted teeth. 'I know the stench of necromancy when I smell it.'

'I agree,' Magnus replied, crunching the bones of another corpse beneath his boots. 'The man is tainted. He will not be rescued.'

'Depends on what you mean by "rescued,"' Siareth sneered. 'I think something can be arranged.'

Karlen Von Stauf stood with his back to them, facing his desk, which was piled up with old books and mouldering tomes. No doubt the lore of chaos and death, Siareth mused to himself.

'So, Karlen Von Stauf has succumbed to the lure of Chaos,' Magnus said gruffly. 'Prepare to die.'

Karlen turned, his eyes bright with green fire. His skin was pallid and his veins were black and vile.

'I have already died, foolish one. Now it is your turn!'

The fresh Necromancer leapt forwards, his arms outstretched, zombie-like. A horde of the dead rose up before him and soon the companions were once again locked in a tight ring, surrounded by living corpses. The stench of death assailed their nostrils and a wave of fear overcame them, but they stood firm.

'My turn is not yet here, necromancer bastard!' Magnus yelled.

'And I have slain a vampire,' Siegfried joined with his own warcry, 'I will not stop at a fallen wizard!'

For three hours the battle raged, each skeleton or zombie slain succeeded by two more, raised up by Karlen. Witchfire flickered and danced around the room, like lightning born of warpstone. The warriors' swords slashed and hacked madly through the ranks of the damned, splintering brittle bones and scattering skulls to roll across the floor. Siareth's fiery death reaped a terrible toll upon the undead, for cleansing flame is a great weapon against the unholy. Zombies burned, their brains fizzling in their rotting skulls and skeletons blackened by fire made softer targets for Magnus' and Siegfried's swords.

'A hammer would be nice,' Magnus grunted as he sliced through another neck vertebrae and sent the undead thing collapsing to the floor in a heap of white dust.

'Yes,' Siegfried concurred, 'more able to smash the bones of these unholy beasts.'

'Swords are made for cutting, but with these there is little to cut,' Magnus grunted as he sliced through the ribcage of a skeleton.

'Or else cutting them has little effect.' Siegfried's greatsword slashed open a zombie's gut, spilling entrails. 'Watch your footing, the floor becomes slippy.'

Eventually, with Siareth locked in a battle of wills with Karlen, and Siegfried laying about with his blade, sending everything within reach back to hell, Magnus snapped.

'Now you die again, old one!' He smashed aside a skeleton on the steps with the back of his shield and drove his sword deep into the fallen wizard's body. Not stopping there, he sawed left and right, withdrew the blade and took off Karlen's head with one blow. The light went out of Von Stauf's eyes and the head rolled with a squelch across the floor. As one, the undead host crumbled to ashes and stillness descended on the crypt. 'And by the gods, you'll stay down.'

'Well, we've done our errand for lord Sigmar,' Siareth said softly. 'Let us go back and celebrate.'

'Indeed,' Siegfried chuckled, sheathing his double-handed sword and flicking a bloodied finger from his bronze armour. 'That's one less ambitious Necromancer to trouble the future.'

'Yes, you're right.' The warlock's eyes flickered over the gathered books and scrolls. 'Come, help me with this arcane lore, I need to get it back to Aldenheim.'

'Very well,' Siegfried nodded his head.

'As for me, I'll take this sword.' Magnus walked over to the far wall and lifted a battered old leather scabbard and swordbelt down from its hooks. 'It might be worth something.'

As he unsheathed the blade, it shone with golden light. Three faces gazed in wonder at the magnificent artefact. This was surely a fine sword.

'Old and scarred on the outside, gleaming and bright on the inside…'

'It's a Blade of Leaping Gold,' Siareth said in awe. 'Use it well, Magnus.'

Magnus pushed the blade back into its scabbard. Instantly, the aura of light vanished and once again the weapon looked simple and rather plain. He unbuckled his old swordbelt. It fell to the ground with a clatter. The he buckled the new swordbelt around his waist.

'Behold my new sword.' He wrenched out the Blade of Leaping Gold and swished it through the air. 'Foul beasts beware, now I am a force to be reckoned with.'

3


	6. Chapter 5: The Fire Mage

V

The Fire Mage

'Once again we do the good emperor's bidding,' Siareth hissed as the gathered Red Wolves sat around a table in the Councillors' chamber. Flames flickered in the wall sockets, casting eerie shadows about the room. 'A bounty has been placed on the head of Balur, the Fire Mage, who has been assisting the Orcs of the Black Mountains in their raids. I want you Magnus, and you Merideon, to accompany me to Black Crag to assassinate him. This mage also has a certain artefact that I…neglected to liberate from him back in the Empire.'

'And what will I be doing during this venture?' Kurt was indignant. 'Am I not important enough to…'

'Of course you are,' Siareth snapped. He rubbed his black goatee thoughtfully. 'I need someone of your worth to run things back here in Aldenheim. See to it that the peasants don't stage a takeover. I don't suppose anyone's seen Siegfried or Malius lately?'

Kurt and Merideon shared a quick glance before looking in opposite directions.

'I haven't seen the pair for two days,' Magnus stated. 'Not that I really care.'

Siareth grunted. 'I don't think I really care either. That elf gives me the feeling I'm going to wake up with a knife in my back. Or rather I won't wake up at all.'

The carriage lurched unsteadily along the mountain path, its wheels creaking. The wind howled around the cliffs, threatening to pluck the company from their safety and hurl them into oblivion. An endless, grey cloudcover drifted above, with no end in sight. The path was barely wide enough, was old and cracked. Siareth was edgy.

He risked a glance out from the carriage window to his right. It was a long way down. A hawk spiralled downwards, floating on its wings, no doubt scanning the cliff for potential prey.

For a brief moment he wondered what would happen if they met their deaths here on the mountainside. Kurt wouldn't be able to control Aldenheim on his own. Who knows what had happened to Von Petrovic and the Druchii. It seemed that they had just buggered off. Come to think of it, Malius had not accompanied them to rescue Karlen, when Siareth had left Merideon and Kurt to train the rabble. He wondered if there had been an incident…the Red Wolves were better off without that scum anyway, Siareth told himself. Good riddance to them. He needed committed men, not wandering vagabonds. He looked across at Magnus. The knight was napping, his hand firmly clasped around the scabbard that sheathed his new blade.

For a week the trio journeyed east across the mountains. Lord Merideon preferred to ride, acting as an outrider and scouting out the wilderness, searching for the best pathway. His map-reading skills were far superior to Siareth's own. The warlock found that he trusted the man. He was young, and eager, and certainly pleasant to have on their side when it came to fighting.

At one stage Merideon halted the carriage with a wave of his hand. He seemed to be looking at something ahead. Swinging his leg over, he dismounted and Siareth could see the glint of steel as his rapier came free.

'Wake up, man,' he nudged Magnus. 'Let's get out; Merideon has found something.'

'What is it, lad?' The knight hailed the youth as they approached. Merideon was kneeling by the roadside. There was a dusty bundle in front of him.

'Someone must have died out here, in this bleakness.' The noble indicated the decaying bones before him. They were shrouded in tattered, velvet rags. A black-fletched arrow protruded from the skeleton. Instinctively, Magnus twisted his head, checking for enemy archers.

'Look at this,' Merideon breathed, drawing a glinting gemstone from the dust. He polished it up on his sleeve. It was a bright amethyst, its facets winking.

An arrow clattered off the carriage body.

'This is not good,' Siareth snarled, looking up at the clifftops. He fancied he saw a moving shape there, clad in black robes. 'Back to the carriage!'

'And that includes you, boy,' Magnus growled, pulling the noble to his feet.

Within minutes a cluster of hooded figures had materialized above the left cliffs. A hail of arrows descended, striking the carriage. Some of the arrows plunged into the woodwork; others bounced off and fell harmlessly to the ground.

'Ambush!' Magnus roared. He shoved Merideon in after Siareth and seized up his shield. Fixing it in a position to protect the coachman, he yelled at the man. 'Get this wagon moving!'

More arrows fell like rain around the carriage as it groaned into motion. Huddling inside, Siareth began chanting the words to a spell, protecting the vulnerable windows from the fusillade outside. Luckily no more arrows were accurate enough to punch through the walls and soon they picked up speed, leaving the ambushers behind.

That night they kept moving. The coachman was nodding off, but Siareth didn't care. As long as the horse didn't lead them off the blasted cliff, it was fine. They had to keep moving. Hopefully the goblins, or whatever they were, weren't chasing them. If they were they'd be in a lot of trouble.

'How long till we reach Black Crag?' Merideon's eyelids were drooping.

'Get some rest, boy. You'll need your strength in the morning.'

Siareth was already asleep.

As the first few rays of sunlight fingered their way over the eastern horizon, the carriage rolled onto a plateau in front of a gigantic doorway. Siareth thumped his fist on the roof.

'Stop the carriage here, somewhere safe and away from the edge.'

'Right you are, gov'nor,' the coachman replied.

Siareth woke Magnus and the two men climbed down from the carriage.

'Ready to go, old man?' Lord Merideon grinned cheekily as he bounded down the steps.

'To whom are you referring?' Siareth growled. Magnus stepped forwards threateningly and Merideon backed off, sneering.

'Both of you, of course.'

'Young fool,' Magnus scoffed, before turning towards the giant gateway.

The doors to Karak Drazh were ajar. They stood tall and mighty, massive stone blocks hundreds of feet high. Siareth could see a line of faint, worn runes around the edges of the doorway. The wind had eroded them though, and he couldn't quite make them out for what they said. The blackness beyond yawned.

'These Orc patrols are getting tiresome,' Lord Merideon sighed as the trio of renegades tramped down the dusty corridor, three hours later. Their blades were slick with purplish-red blood, and even Siareth had been forced to fight in combat.

'What do you expect,' Magnus chuckled, 'this is Black Crag, Orc lair and former stronghold of Karak Drazh.'

'Your learning astounds me,' Merideon said sarcastically, swishing his rapier.

'Silence!' Siareth hissed. 'Look there…'

The room was bare and unadorned. Cold flagstones lined the floor and a small, golden statuette stood in a wall alcove. It was forged from solid gold, and resembled a ferocious, orcish deity. A moment passed as they each gazed in silent admiration. Magnus glanced around the empty room. Seeing no immediate danger, he strode forth and placed his gauntlet around the idol.

'Wait,' the warlock breathed. 'It could be trapped!'

Cautiously, Magnus removed the statuette and waited for the coming rumble of stone. It didn't come. Grinning with pride, the knight weighed the solid gold prize in one hand and quickly stowed it in his pack.

'That was easy.'

Instantly a beam of bright green energy shot down from the ceiling. Before any of them could move, the beam traced a path across the floor towards Magnus. Then it vanished with a wisp of smoke. Siareth glanced up at the roof. A huge red and green statue had been carved there, studded with many gemstones.

'The evil eye,' he said, 'worshipped by orcs. We should tread carefully.'

The Ogres' den guarded the entrance to Balur's study.

'Die, foul beast!' Magnus roared, raising his Blade of Leaping Gold and hacking through sinew, flesh and bone. The ogre bellowed in pain and retaliated, throwing Magnus across the room. But the rogue knight scrambled to his feet and charged back into the fray. The noble was criss-crossing another ogre's face with lines of blood, even as it brought its huge cleaver crashing down. Merideon danced aside and the flagstones he had been standing on a moment before shattered with inhuman power. While the beast tugged its weapon free, the rapier embedded itself in the ogre's enormous backside, unleashing a howl of agony. Merideon then jumped nimbly up onto the creature's back. Twirling his blade expertly, he thrust it downwards through the beast's tiny brain.

Siareth's magic flickered, small darts of energy stinging the first ogre's eyes. It let go of its club, and, taking advantage of its distraction, Magnus ran it through with his sword. The blade stuck fast in the creature's heart, and he was wrenched up into the air as the corpse pitched backwards on flailing limbs.

'Ah, I knew that weakling of an emperor would send someone to assassinate me,' Balur sneered.

'We're not servants of the emperor, old comrade,' Siareth spat. 'Now, hand over the Wand of Recall.'

Balur shook his head. 'Never, especially not to a mere Hedge Wizard. Now, Siareth, feel the fiery heat of Balur the Fire Mage!'

As bright flashes of magic burst back and forth, Magnus and Merideon battled against the orc guards.

A huge, bestial warrior; clad in a combination of leather and chainmail, launched itself at Magnus. Its torso was one big block of solid muscle, and in its claws it gripped a bloody cleaver. Red eyes squinted at what it perceived as its tiny prey.

'Waaagh! Die, humies!'

The cleaver chopped down at the knight. The Blade of Leaping Gold swept up to defend him, and a look of surprise spread across the orc's brutish face. It lasted only seconds before a second warcry burst from thick lips and the choppa cut through the air. This time Magnus rolled aside, and the blade, as big as a human's torso, smashed into the cobbles. In the split second it took for the orc to free its weapon, Magnus slashed at the creature's face and took off its head with the return blow. The huge beast toppled forwards, its gangly arms flaying out.

Lord Meridian jumped back out of the arc of another choppa. This orc was slightly smaller, but no less terrifying. On its head it wore a great horned helmet, and its heavily muscled body was protected by leather scale mail. The noble dashed forwards, sticking his rapier through the orc's cheek guard before sprinting aside. The scrap of armour came away and blood rushed wetly onto the floor. Another blow flew towards the noble's head. This time he parried, and his riposte ripped into the foe's shoulder.

'Need a hand?' Magnus was leaning on his sword, breathing heavily. Distracted, the orc turned and that allowed Merideon to stab his rapier up through the back of the beast's neck and penetrate its skull.

'Thanks for nothing, knight,' he spat as the orc fell, lifeless. 'I could've taken it down without your diversion.'

'My apologies, lad,' Magnus replied. 'Next time I'll remember to not interfere.'

'You do that. I can handle things myself.'

Spells were blistering the air between the two spellcasters. Sweat beaded on Siareth's brow. He was hard-pressed to dispel the rogue wizard's magic and his own spells were next to fruitless. The flames of Balur curled about the warlock, searing his robes. Magnus glanced at Merideon.

'You know what you have to do, friend. Much longer and the warlock will die.'

'Indeed,' the noble said, drawing his pistol. He took a single pistol ball from his shot and smothered it in Chaos Bane: a holy ointment created to destroy the minions of evil. He loaded it into the weapon, and taking careful aim, he fired.

The ball smashed through Balur's concentration. It hurtled towards his head and punched a tunnel straight through his decaying skull. For a moment his body stood there still, arms raised. A fiery comet was plunging down towards the Red Wolves but it quickly disintegrated into orange dust as the body collapsed upon the flagstones. 'Damn you Siareth…' The Fire Mage's voice died upon the winds of magic.

'I take it you and he had some history,' Merideon said slowly.

'He and I were once…friends,' the warlock confessed. 'Before he joined the Bright Order.' He strode over to the trunk and took out the Wand of Recall. It was a short, metal staff, curled around with stylised ivy. 'Magnus, help me gather some of these books. I shall destroy the rest, so that they do not fall into the hands of others.'

4


	7. Chapter 6: Trial

VI

Trial

The cloaked and hooded man, his face hidden in shadow, gestured towards the shimmering portal he had conjured. It was ovular in shape, stretching up half the height of the town hall, and sparkled with white stars, diamonds against an expanse of velvety blackness. Spontaneous crackles of energy danced about its edges. The two columns on either side were made from granite, and leering daemonic faces had been carved into their surface. They had always been here, Aldenheim's single piece of archaeology from another time centuries ago.

Magnus, Kurt and Merideon had gathered on the outskirts of the town, near the cemetery, where the pillars stood. Siareth had said he had 'other matters' to attend to – this time they would have to investigate without him.

'This dungeon is rumoured to hold a great secret,' the stranger rasped. 'It is my master's bidding to show it to you. Come with me, through the gateway.'

'What say you, Magnus?' Kurt inquired. 'Does Siareth trust this man?'

'I dare say he does,' Merideon rolled his eyes. 'Otherwise why on Sigmar's earth would he ask us to inspect this dungeon?' The noble strode forwards. 'Let's get this over with.' He looked at the stranger. 'I'm ready.'

'Very well, my lord.' The man's face seemed to look at Magnus and Kurt. 'Come,' he said again, 'and do what Siareth asks of you. But be quick, for the portal will soon close.' He vanished as he stepped backwards through the gateway, and Merideon followed eagerly. There was a flicker, and he was gone.

'I agree,' said Magnus. 'Whatever secrets lie within, they'll reveal themselves soon enough.' The knight dashed after Merideon as the oval began to tighten.

'Fine,' Kurt snapped. 'I'm with you.' Before the portal closed, he leapt through.

There was a flash of white light and suddenly the space between the columns was empty.

The party traversed many dark corridors and twisted passages, following the sputtering light of their guide's torch. Finally, they arrived at a room with three brass-banded doors. Other than that, the room was bare.

'So,' Kurt spat, disgusted, 'where is this great secret, you spoke of?'

Suddenly the guide put out his torch and the chamber was thrust into pitch blackness. There came an evil laugh that sent a chill down Magnus' spine. There was something familiar about that laugh. He whirled, holding out his sword, but the tittering sound echoed all around them.

'Farewell, my heroes,' the guide sneered, making his escape. There was the sound of grinding stone against stone and then all was silent.

'Where are you, traitor?' The knight roared. No response. 'Come back here and show us the secret!'

'Bastard!' Merideon snarled, his rapier out and ready.

'Watch where you're pointing that thing!' Kurt yelled, stepping back and hitting the wall.

'Sorry, Waldheim, I…'

'You've got the lantern; if you don't mind I'd like my sight back! We may as well be blind in this darkness!'

'Yes, lad, get us a light.'

After a few minutes fumbling around, Merideon lit the lantern, and the room came back into focus. Three plain, wooden doors seemed to mock the warriors, each one silently begging them to open it and venture beyond.

'Well, that was a fine trick,' Kurt retorted. 'Some stranger leads us down into this hole, plunges us all into darkness and then disappears completely! This could be it, our last adventure! Do any of you trust Siareth now?'

Magnus grunted. He should've known the warlock would try something like this. First he got their support to recover a magical sword. Then he got all five of them, including Siegfried and Malius to help him take over Aldenheim, and then those two mysteriously 'went missing.' And what about all that pretending to be loyal to the emperor nonsense? Next he tries to get rid of us all. His mood dark, he struck out at the wall with the Blade of Leaping Gold. Seconds after his action, he realised with horror what he had done. But instead of lying in broken pieces on the floor, the blade remained whole, shining and undamaged. This was certainly some sword. He wouldn't have found it if he hadn't aided the warlock. Was there something to be gained by continuing this relationship? Anything was better than the social gatherings and complete boredom back in Glintburg. As he brooded, he thought it through. Maybe this was some sort of test…

Merideon paced back and forth, his mind restless. What purpose did he have siding with the warlock? Siareth promised riches and wealth, a place in the Red Wolves and a chance to recover the book of Kharon Baal. Was it worth it, staying a member of the Red Wolves? What of his brief friendship with the outlaw, Kurt Waldheim? Should he forget about that and go his own way? No, it would be a lot harder looking for the book on his own, and a lot more dangerous. There were benefits in a company, even if they didn't all get along.

Kurt frowned as he sat down, his back to the blank wall. What was all this really about? He wasn't really interested in ruling over a township. He was in this partnership for the gold, glory and anonymity, an escape from the clutches of the authorities. He was a criminal…like Siareth. He enjoyed getting his own way, his gambling, his drinking and whoring. Perhaps this was what he had wanted all along. Perhaps here he could make a stand, if the authorities ever did find him. Which was highly unlikely. He certainly had something going here, and whatever it was, he liked it. If anything, this gave the best possibility of avoiding the chance that someone would take his life of freedom away from him.

'Strange…' Kurt mused. 'I don't remember entering through a door.'

'Friends, comrades, lend me…' Merideon began. He struck a heroic pose.

'Yeah, yeah, we've all heard that one before,' Magnus groaned.

'Let me finish,' the noble snapped. 'Look, we're all here for a reason. It's up to us to stand together…'

'I am no hero,' Kurt said abruptly. 'I'm staying with the Red Wolves. Siareth can rule over Aldenheim all he likes. As long as I get what I want, I'm happy with this arrangement.'

'Well I was going to say that I may as well join you, for good, I mean. I am committed.'

'As am I,' Magnus nodded, his mind resolved. 'This is a test of our loyalty.'

'Whatever you may call it, we've got to prove that we can get out of here alive.' Kurt stood up and faced the blank wall. 'Now, as I was saying, I don't remember coming through a door.'

'Yes, did anyone else hear that grinding sound?' Magnus started feeling the cracks in the wall.

'There must be a concealed entrance,' Merideon sighed, sheathing his rapier. 'Move aside, old one…'

'Mind who your calling old one,' the knight rumbled. Nevertheless, he stood aside and let the two younger warriors search the bare wall. For a few minutes he watched as they examined the stone thoroughly.

Kurt touched a gap between two large stones, there was a shudder and dust fell from the ceiling. He quickly stepped back as a large slab of stone slid sideways, revealing the exit to their temporary cell.

'Now, what did I say?'

'Come,' Merideon said, his voice silky, 'time to find our way out of this forgotten hole.'

During the next six hours, by Kurt's estimation, they made their way through a series of dusty passages and subterranean chambers. Luckily, they didn't meet many creatures. Bats fluttered away into the darkness above. Tiny red eyes glinted before disappearing down boltholes gnawed into the earth. The constant dripping of water echoed from somewhere in the deep. Once, they heard a frightful, drawn out wail. It sounded terrifying, yet lonely.

'What in the name of all things holy was that?' Merideon was visibly shaken.

'Get a grip on yourself, boy,' Magnus' voice intoned from behind his visor. His expression was invisible beneath his plumed helm.

'It was nothing my blades can't take care of.' Kurt smiled to himself.

Merideon gasped and pointed with his rapier. Fingers of gold touched the uppermost steps of a staircase carved into the wall ahead. It was sunlight. A gust of wind blew in from outside and threatened to lift Kurt's hat from his head.

The trio stopped walking at the base of the stairway. They were cold, tired and hungry.

'We made it!' Magnus moaned, nearly dropping his sword in relief. 'I am thankful to be alive this day.'

Kurt breathed deeply and mounted the steps, blinking as he emerged into the sun's rays. He could feel the wind rustling his hair and its touch upon his skin.

'Look,' he murmured. 'There, upon the hilltop.'

The outside world was never before such a welcome sight. A blue sky greeted them, washed over in sparse, white clouds. The hooded figure, holding a staff, approached them, its robes flapping in the breeze. As the three companions dragged themselves from the cave mouth, the figure lowered its hood. His face was unfamiliar, a man of unremarkable features. Slowly, as the spell dissolved, the man's face became that of Siareth.

'It was you!' Magnus pointed, involuntarily. Siareth raised an eyebrow.

'You're not as dumb as you look.' Before Magnus could protest, he continued. 'Well done, you truly are committed to survival. I had to be sure that I could count on your intellect and reliability in a hostile environment. You have proved yourselves worthy of my company, friends. Together we shall be great. Do any of you wish to part company?'

'Never,' Kurt scoffed. 'I'm with you all the way.'

'Indeed, I too am proud to be a Red Wolf.' Merideon bowed fashionably.

Magnus shook his head slowly.

'For the Red Wolves!' He thumped his fist against his heart.

'Excellent. You shall all be rewarded. Have no doubts of that.'

3


	8. Chapter 7: Ollar's Legacy

VII

Ollar's Legacy

The abandoned mine lay beneath a crumbling fortress clinging to the top of a hill, like a wyrm coiled about its treasure hoard. Below the peak vast forests encircled the fort, like slaves kneeling before their hungry master. Siareth pointed with his staff at the mist-shrouded castle with its windows that glowed faintly like yellow fire.

'See the Castle of the mad wizard Ollar. It is here that many adventurers have come seeking the great wealth below. But not one has returned.'

'Then we shall be the first,' Magnus chuckled. He unsheathed his glowing, golden sword.

'How much gold did you say had been dug out from the rock?' Kurt raised an eyebrow.

'Five thousand crowns' worth,' the warlock replied, grinning evilly. 'We shall plunder it all.'

'Merideon is going to miss out on something big.' Kurt whistled.

Shouldering their packs, heavy with supplies, the trio made their way down into the valley.

The rickety mine cart jostled along the railway, its load of gold coins jingling. Rolfe puffed as he pushed, wiping the sweat from his brow with one, dirty glove. He cursed when he realised he'd just smeared his forehead with more dirt. Giving a heartfelt sigh, he trudged on, deeper into the mine.

He'd come down here two days ago. The risks of such a dangerous place had been worth it, so far. He hadn't met any of the creatures that were supposed to guard the 'Castle of Mystery.' He had found many skeletons, their bones mouldering away amidst rock formations and in abandoned chambers. Liberating their share of the gold was a bonus; he knew they wouldn't be needing it anymore.

He also knew that if he wanted to he could simply get out of here safely with what he'd collected so far. Glancing down casually at his loot as he walked along, he estimated there were around three hundred gold crowns there. He'd also taken a couple of swords that were in good condition, some odd pieces of armour, a strange scroll with arcane runes written onto it that he couldn't understand and a bottle half filled with strangely coloured liquid. He might be able to get a few shiners for these, he thought. Wizard's gear, that's what that was.

But he was going well so far. Nothing unusual as yet. No monsters, or pitfalls. At the first sign of trouble, he'd leg it, and take his lot with him.

Something flickered up ahead. A fire? Perhaps there was someone else down here? Rival adventurers? If they intended to take his share, he'd make it clear that wasn't going to happen. Instinctively, his right hand moved to the pickaxe slung over his back.

As he moved closer, trundling towards the light with his cart, he heard voices. Bringing the cart to a halt, he unslung his weapon and crept closer. He kept to the shadows, listening intently.

'What do you mean we're lost?' A man's voice, gruff and angry.

'I mean we're lost,' another man's voice, this one hard and deadly. 'We've been wandering around down here for weeks.'

'But can't you…do some magic or something?' A third voice protested desperately. Rolfe could tell that this man was younger than the others.

'I'm not all-powerful, you know,' the other snapped, obviously a wizard of some sort. 'But I'm not giving up. We should go back the way we came. At least then we can start afresh.'

'Start afresh?' The other older man roared. 'But we've spent…'

'Keep it down, you oaf,' the youth hissed. 'The last thing I want right now is to have to fight another dozen of those ghoulish spectre things.'

It was then that Rolfe decided he could use this group to his advantage. He would utilize their fighting and magical skills to get him further in. Together they'd gain as much gold as they could carry, and then retreat back with his knowledge of where the exit lay. Then he would betray them, and take everything for himself. He'd be rich. This would pay off his gambling debts and finally see him able to break away from the rest of the impoverished peasantry forever.

'Need some assistance?' Rolfe held his pickaxe loosely in his hands as he approached. Immediately the three men unsheathed swords and turned to face him. The little light cast by a battered old lantern made them look like daemons. Clearly they had already seen battle here, as shown by their bloodied and bandaged appearance. The youngest of them sported a bright new scar. Showing no intention of lowering their blades, they fanned out and soon flanked Rolfe on both sides. He was unperturbed.

'Who the hell are you?' The armoured man jerked his chin in the air.

'Name's Rolfe. Who are you?'

'Magnus Glint,' the other replied. 'This is Siareth,' he pointed to the wizard, 'and Kurt. Are you down here alone?'

'Well, I was. Until you lot showed up. Searchin' for the gold, are ye?'

The knight exchanged glances with the wizard.

'Yes, as a matter of fact we are,' Siareth spoke. 'Do you know where it is?'

'Well, I think I do. I've bin followin' this here railroad. Got a cart, I do. If we follow this down, it should go somewhere.'

'You're right,' Siareth rubbed his beard. He glanced down at the track. 'Mind if we join you?'

'All right, here's the deal.' Rolfe slung his pickaxe and crossed his arms. 'You protect me from whatever comes, and I'll get you outta here. Then we split the gold fifty-fifty. Fair?'

'I say, we're not some band of…' Kurt began, his brow furrowed.

'Fine,' Siareth nodded. 'That's fine. Shall we go?'

The company marched in single file, treading carefully down the railway. Magnus took the lead, followed by Rolfe, then Siareth. The warlock towed the mine cart behind him with a spell. Kurt brought up the rear.

The outlaw glanced intermittently into the cart. The miner had seemed to gather quite a lot of gold during his journey so far. Where had he got it from, Kurt pondered. The mine was still a fair way down, he suspected. Then a thought of logic occurred to him. Perhaps the thug had stolen it from the bodies of past adventurers; those who didn't make it out of here alive.

He looked up at the back of Rolfe. He was a short, squat man, like a dwarf almost. Although his face couldn't be seen from this angle, he was highly unattractive, even downright ugly, unlike Kurt. His clothes were filthy and his personal hygiene was atrocious. Kurt wondered what reason the man had to risk his life in a crazy venture such as this. Living in squalor, probably.

Kurt's hand slid forwards, into the cart. Making sure none of the others saw him, he closed his fist around a single, gold piece. Quickly, he withdrew his hand and pocketed his prize. The others hadn't even heard a slight clink as the coins were disturbed. Kurt smiled a secret smile. One coin down, two hundred and ninety-nine to go.

Time passed; the companions continued trudging through the darkness of the mine. Kurt began to speculate whether or not the treasure actually existed. A good trick, he thought. Start a false rumour of a great treasure, back it up with a magical castle and then make sure no-one makes it back alive to tell the tale. Must keep the idea in mind. Could come in useful.

'Stop,' Magnus said from the gloom ahead. They had reached a precipice. The railway was broken and lurched precariously over the edge of a chasm that dropped at least fifty feet into the abyss. Kurt kicked a small stone over. It tumbled, falling silently before vanishing from sight. Ears straining, none of them heard it strike the bottom.

'How do we cross this madness?' The outlaw folded his arms over his chest. 'Rolfe?'

'How am I supposed to know?' The stumpy man scratched his unshaven face. 'You say you're a warlock?' He directed his question at Siareth.

'Don't ask me to do anything,' Siareth said huskily. 'I'm already expending my energy on this bastard.' He indicated the mine cart. 'Especially as now its all…down hill.'

Kurt realised that Siareth was not towing the cart anymore. He was stopping it ploughing down the track, knocking them all into the chasm.

'How the hell are we going to get this thing back up again?' Kurt wrapped his knuckles on the cart, which was now quite empty of coins. 'Did anyone think about that, eh?'

'No,' Magnus said bluntly.

'Damn it,' Rolfe whined. 'Well, I'd best remove my possessions out of there.' He made to grab the side of the cart. In a flash Kurt knew he had to move fast.

'Watch out!' The outlaw yelled, giving the cart a hefty kick. Its wheels creaking, it rolled crazily forwards, shaking from side to side. Siareth swore and sidestepped, the spell now broken. Magnus also got out of its way.

'No!' Rolfe tried to snatch his gear but the cart crashed into him, flinging the thug aside. It hurtled downwards and visibly leapt off the cliff. Rolfe scrambled after his loot and paused at the edge, staring wildly. The others joined him and watched as junk spilled out and was lost.

It was a full minute before they heard a faint crunch.

'What'd you do that for?' Rolfe snarled at Kurt.

'Do what?'

'You pushed me treasure off the cliff!'

'It slipped! And anyway, what was in there? A couple of swords, some other junk?'

'Oh never mind. It was nothing.'

Eventually they found another way down via another railroad. This heightened Rolfe's frustrations immensely. But he accompanied them still. There was nothing else to do.

The outlaw was thrown across the cave by the greenskinned monster. He hit the wall with a sickening crunch. Putting his hand on his back, he cursed inwardly as he felt fresh blood.

'You'll pay for that, greenskinned bastard!'

A white glow enveloped him, raising him to his feet and revitalising him. In a moment he was whole again, the wound in his back closing up with a crackle of power. He saluted Siareth as the warlock lowered his staff. Running at full speed, he jumped into the air.

Kurt's boot flew out and smashed the orc full in the face. There was a crack of breaking cartilage and the monster's head snapped back. As the behemoth fell, the outlaw crossed both swords against the orcish throat.

'Prepare your meet your great green gods, orc.' His blades slashed outwards.

Magnus hacked the throat of his enemy with his gold blade, before reversing the blow in an uppercut blow that took off the orc's lower jaw, tusks and all. Blood spurted in a fountain.

Siareth drew the Blessed Sword. The blade gleamed with an otherworldly light, and the warlock was filled a renewed vigour. The sword wanted to drink.

An orc bore down on him, twin axes carving figures of eight in the air.

'Die, weakling humie scum!'

The Blessed Sword struck in lightning swift strokes. The first stroke sliced open the orc's chest; the second cleaved its head from its body.

'No thankyou, greenskin. It is not my time.'

Rolfe cowered in the corner as battle raged around him. He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. He was in no position to bargain with them. Their skills were too great and his too little. He'd be lucky if he got out of here alive, let alone with any gold.

In front of them sat a gigantic heap of gold nuggets. They were all shapes and sizes, having been hacked from the rock. They glittered in the lantern light.

Kurt's eyes bulged. His jaw dropped. He stared, edging forwards greedily. Magnus, too, was astounded at so much gold in one place. Even back in Glintburg, the Glintburg treasury didn't contain this much wealth.

'There's…there's enough here for a small empire!' Kurt picked up a hunk the size of his fist.

'Maybe not that much,' Siareth chuckled. 'But there is all we need. Take it; take it all, my friends. You deserve it.'

As one, Kurt, Magnus and Rolfe rushed at the gold, seizing it up and stuffing as much as they could into sacks, pouches, bags and pockets. Siareth watched, amused. It was as if they had just learned that they would never eat again. They would plunder the mine for every last speck.

After many more days beneath the mountain, the four men climbed a set of marble steps. Sunlight pierced the gloom as they emerged into the ruins of Ollar's castle. It was another world. The mine's defences penetrated, the shadow magic about this place dispersed. White walls soared around them. Paintings depicting great battles against the northern hordes materialized on rich tapestries. A cool wind blew through a smashed, stained glass window.

Kurt watched a white feather floating down on the zephyr, spiralling gently. Forsaken and abandoned, this place was yet beautiful.

For a moment he considered the forlorn ruins of this once great castle. What if things had been different? What if he had been a hero, for good? He shook his head. It was not that way, and never would be. He had chosen his path, accepted his destiny.

'Well, that was fruitful,' Rolfe sighed as they sat down, exhausted, upon the mosaic-laden floor of the chamber.

'Fruitful for us, yes,' Siareth grinned. His expression turned cold. 'But not for you.'

Rolfe pulled himself to his feet and unslung his pickaxe. Magnus cocked his head, confused. A sinister leer spread across Kurt's face.

'I knew this would happen. You bunch of…'

'What's this?' Magnus confronted Siareth. 'This man helped us escape. You mean to betray him?'

'Why of course, dear Magnus,' Siareth confessed, shaking his head slightly. 'Use your head for something other than head-butting orcs.'

'What benefit would there be in allying with this scum?' Kurt asked the knight incredulously. 'You seriously believed that we would let this man walk away, with our gold?'

'But he…'

Kurt circled Rolfe slowly as he talked.

'Did what? We searched for weeks, to find it. We fought the damned Undead for it. We battled those loathsome orcs for it. Who is this man? He could be anybody. The gold is ours.'

With a single sword thrust, he drove one of his swords through Rolfe's back. The blade erupted from the man's chest with a spray of blood.

The warlock stood with his companions on a rock overlooking Aldenheim. In the courtyard hung the corpse of the thug Rolfe. The body swung gently in the breeze, the rusted hinges of the gibbet creaking in the wind.

'We can fortify this place into a bastion of mighty defences,' Magnus mused, seemingly still lost in the brutality of Rolfe's murder. 'The sigmar-worshippers would be hard-pressed to attack us, should we suddenly "withdraw" from their good graces.'

'You speak wisely, my friend,' Siareth said coldly. 'But we won't let that information slip just yet. However, we will build up the walls. Kurt – I leave this task to you. Travel to the Empire. Hire labourers, architects, even dwarfs, I don't care. Ensure we could withstand an assault if needs be.'

'I'll get to it right away.' Kurt rubbed his hands together and, leading his horse, headed down into Aldenheim.

'Magnus, I want you to gather anyone who will fight. Soldiers, traders, merchants, thugs, whatever. Build me an army to defend this place. Together with strong walls, we will have the means to defend ourselves if necessary.'

'Yes, my lord.' The knight's face was blank as he strode away after Kurt.

Siareth rubbed the Talisman of Lore, hanging on its chain around his neck. He stared out to the west, his enhanced vision picking out a galloping horse and its once-noble rider. Several feet behind came a band of mounted men, the sunlight glinting off their armour and weapons: mercenaries, professional killers.

'Ah, Merideon,' Siareth mused. 'I see that you have hired out the escort we will soon need…'

4


	9. Chapter 8: Bastion of Chaos

VIII

Bastion of Chaos

The warlock, the knight, the noble and the rogue rode haughtily towards the city gates of Glintburg, flanked by their mounted escort. All around them guardsmen bustled with bundles of weapons, clanking armour and shouting orders.

'You'd think there was a war coming,' Kurt sneered.

'Don't worry. There is,' Siareth replied. He eyed the outlaw. 'I hope you left Aldenheim in good care.'

'Of course I did,' Kurt snapped. 'The dwarf is reliable.'

Siareth and Magnus hoped that none of the guardsmen were veterans in the service of Lord Glint. But even if there were, a few precautions had been taken. Magnus had cropped his hair and wore an iron mask over his face to hide the lion claw marks, and Siareth wore an eye-patch and chewed vigorously on a dwarven cigar. Both had different coloured hair, a simple spell.

'What's your business here, then?' A rough man with a scar running down his face questioned the adventurers as they approached the south gates. He held a halberd in one hand.

'I am Lord Castario of Magritta. I have come to rid Lord Glint of a great evil that lies in the mountains.' Magnus adopted the accent of an Estalian noble. 'Not that it is really any of your business, captain.'

'Fair enough,' the man replied, standing aside to let them pass.

'Lord who?' Merideon raised an eyebrow as the companions moved through the marketplace.

'Lord Castario was the ambassador of Estalia once. He was slain in the battle when Gulthor attacked, one year ago,' Magnus winked.

'His most Glorious and Magnificent High and Mighty Majesty, His Greatness, most Worthiness Prince Magnus Glint, continues to order a bounty put forth for the heads of all Orcs, Goblins, Fimir and Chaos Warriors. Any of these foul creatures should be slain without mercy, lest they regroup and make another attack on the city. The bounties are thus: Ten pieces of gold for each goblin, twenty pieces for each orc and thirty…'

'Is that what he's calling himself now?' Siareth spat. 'And I thought he was high and mighty before I left.'

'Your father is indeed an arrogant one,' Kurt hissed, staring at the herald.

'Why in blazes did we come back here again?' Magnus asked the warlock as the company passed the city courtyard.

'My apologies, Magnus,' the Siareth said softly. 'But I must have Orcs Bane. With it, we can more easily defend Aldenheim – after all, our town does lie in the Worlds Edge, where the greenskins dwell in their thousands.'

'Well, you lot can collect the bounty,' Merideon snorted. 'I will not carry filthy orc heads.'

Magnus' gold sword slashed through the Fimm warrior's neck, spilling a gout of blood and toppling the beast to the floor. A Chaos Warrior clad in heavy, ornate armour and swinging a huge axe, made to chop his head from his shoulders. Parrying the blow, the knight thrust his blade through the warrior's heart.

The cut and thrust of Merideon's rapier sliced and diced goblin filth as the noble waded through his enemies. Surrounded on three sides by a horde of greenskins, he leapt away, sheathed his bloodied sword and pulled out his pistol, a new-fangled thing that he had bought in Glintburg. It was shiny and had multiple barrels.

'Feel the fury of my new gun!'

The weapon spoke, its barrels spinning and hurling swift death.

Kurt was a whirlwind, his boots lashing out and his gauntlets crushing windpipes. His stolen orcish sword swept through the fungoid monsters like a knife through butter and his eyes were glazed over in a trance of killing. He was lost in a surge of blood and destruction.

From his position on the dais, in front of a golden throne adorned with bright gemstones and lined in red velvet, Gulthor, Black Orc Chaos Champion urged his minions onwards. Although his bodyguard on the steps protected him, the orcs and goblins were next to useless, falling in droves to the adventurers ranged against him. Already two of his guards had fallen too, slain by a mighty firebolt that had descended from the ceiling of the vaulted chamber and exploded in an eruption of sparks and magical flames. He thought he recognised the warlock, perhaps someone from his own recent history? His mind was fuddled by darkness, perhaps his devotions to the Chaos Gods was blotting out such irrelevant memories.

Even now the man clad in armour and the humanoid death machine were hacking their way through the chaos warriors. It was slow, for the warriors' armour was iron-hard, but these men were utterly relentless.

And then, with a spray of blood and the clamour of steel, the gold sword, a blade not unlike his own, cleaved its way through the gorget of the last chaos warrior, tearing the head from the shoulders. The horned helm skidded across the floor, coming to rest at the base of a giant pillar.

Like so many battles, it was over so quickly.

The barrels on Merideon's pistol spun to a smoking halt, its cartridge exhausted. Kurt was breathing heavily, his blade slick with blood. Magnus raised his visor and looked up at Gulthor.

'Time to meet your destiny, Gulthor!' Siareth bellowed, raising his gnarled staff. It glowed with a strange light, and an evil grin made its way across the warlock's face. In an instant, Gulthor knew who this was.

'Siareth! Tis a long time since I've seen you in these lands. Why do you betray me?' The chaos orc gestured openly with his crab-claw.

'There comes a time when allies have passed their period of usefulness.' The warlock's eyes glinted and alighted on Orcs Bane, gripped in Gulthor's right hand. 'Now, you will die.'

'Very well, warlock. I would ask your help in the raids on the Empire, but…'

'This is for my city!' Magnus threw his sword. The blade span, end over end before coming to rest in Gulthor's chest. He was jolted back a step, his eyes glowing with rage.

'For this insolence, it is you who will die!'

The maddened black orc rushed down the steps, roaring a wordless warcry. Orcs Bane came arcing down with yellow luminescence. Before it could strike Magnus pulled his own sword free and the two gold blades crossed with a titanic burst of sparks.

As the two duelled, Siareth closed his eyes and started the words of a spell. The noble watched closely while Kurt scurried away towards a massive heap of weapons, pieces of armour and other battle trophies, piled in one corner of the room. Perhaps there was treasure here…

A flaming head, laughing insanely, shot out from the tip of Siareth's staff. It blasted Gulthor off his feet, burning his hide. With an almighty roar, the black orc chaos champion tried to rise but a further blast of magic turned the Black Orc into an inferno. Combined with a swift stroke from the Blade of Leaping Gold it silenced him.

Orcs Bane clattered to the floor where it lay in a pool of yellow light.

'Magnus, retrieve Gulthor's head,' Siareth motioned. 'This way he can never come back.'

'What do you mean?' Merideon was inquisitive.

'The Bastion of Chaos…this place, it revives the forces of evil. Eventually they return to life.'

'Cutting his head from his body will be a pleasure,' Magnus snarled, lifting his sword in both hands.

The Blade of Leaping Gold descended and black blood spattered across the flagstones.

2


	10. Chapter 9: Barak Tor

IX

Barak Tor

Siareth had gathered his companions in a seedy tavern in Glintburg. Around them at the other tables men roared and clashed their tankards, spilling ale across the rough, wooden tables. The noise and clamour was such that it would easily mask the red wolves' voices should anyone be eavesdropping.

They had collected their share of gold for the bounties on the heads of Glint's enemies, and had retrieved what they had come for, the magical blade Orcs Bane. Yet they had not left the city.

'Why do we tarry,' Magnus snarled. 'Every moment we stay here could be dangerous.'

'There is one more thing to collect from here before we go,' Siareth hissed. He turned to Kurt. 'Care to explain what you found out?'

Kurt smiled in a superior way.

'Your old one needs to force his neighbours into an alliance,' he directed his gaze at Magnus. 'Without them, he will be hard-pressed to defeat the orcs that are spewing from the eastern Border Princes.'

'And?' Merideon raised a suspicious eyebrow.

'Glint needs a particularly shiny gem to do so,' Kurt continued. 'It's called the Star of the West, and lies in nearby Barak Tor.'

'Barak Tor is also known as the "Barrow of the Witch Lord."' Siareth said, a slight smile crossing his features. 'But with the gem we can deprive the Prince of his allies, thus dooming the realm.'

'Is this wise?' Magnus furrowed his brow. 'I can't say I agree with my father on anything, but this…'

'Is your will, as it is mine!' Siareth leaned forwards and his eyes flashed with green light. Magnus let out a bark of agony and clutched his forehead with his hands. Naturally this outburst was totally ignored by the other drinkers in the tavern. 'You will obey my command.'

'Yes, my master,' Magnus uttered, pain surging through his senses.

Kurt and Merideon exchanged an uneasy look as Siareth settled back into his chair.

'I will be staying here this time,' the warlock told them. 'I have…other matters to attend to. Be sure that you do not awaken the Witch Lord. His revival could be disastrous for us all.'

'Very well, Siareth,' Kurt said curtly. 'The Star of the West?'

'If you can return it, it's yours.'

A mischievous grin was Kurt's only reply as he, Magnus and Merideon departed.

The dungeon passages stretched for miles in every direction. The floor was covered in dusty flagstones, the walls sported giant cobwebs as if they were some kind of grisly medals, and the ceiling above was so low at first that the three warriors had to stoop slightly. Eventually it levelled up to a more convenient height but the doorways remained low.

'How many hours have we spent in this profitless tomb?' Kurt was getting impatient.

'I'd say around three,' Merideon replied, glancing warily into the darkness. The corridor seemed to vanish into the inky blackness ahead.

'Quiet!' Magnus huffed, his sword glinting in the lantern light. 'I sense…'

The tunnel twisted sharply into a corner. Beyond this lay two doors. Both were ancient, mouldering affairs, the planks nearly splitting and cracks of flickering torchlight seeping through.

'Finally, the gem,' Magnus roared, kicking in the door with a burst of splinters and rotting wood. He rolled aside, expecting an attack from the whitish figure before him. 'Hand it over!'

Scrambling to his feet, he turned to face the creature raising its hands menacingly.

It was a mummy.

Such a small detail barely registered in Magnus' brain as his magical blade sliced into the musty bandages. Greyish flesh, withered and cracked with age, started flaking as he hacked and slashed with wild fury. Kurt and Merideon entered the room and skirted around, avoiding the knight's furious attacks. Soon the undead creature would be dead once more.

The mummy crumpled to the ground, yellowed bandages unravelling and fraying.

Then it raised itself on decaying limbs and came again at Magnus.

'What…' Magnus' eyes widened in astonishment. His chest was heaving with exhaustion.

Grimacing, Merideon aimed his pistol and fired.

There was a crack and a puff of black smoke as the shot went wide. Coughing and spluttering, Merideon backed off dampening out the stray sparks from the misfiring pistol. Shouting wordlessly, Kurt charged forwards, prepared to hack the mummy down.

The creature dragged itself towards Magnus, who stood petrified, the sword hanging uselessly by his side. What was this thing that could withstand his attack and yet continue on?

Then a single arrow flew through the doorway behind them and impaled the mummy's head. Instantly, the undead monster collapsed, its body crumbling to dust and ashes and the fire of its hellish eyes dimming.

The trio span to face the door. A cloaked figure stood there, his face hidden in shadow.

'Who are you?' Magnus advanced, his blade rising menacingly.

'I am Legless, of the High Elves. I am master in the ways of the scout,' the stranger said. 'And you are?'

Magnus narrowed his eyes. Why should he trust this elf? He glanced at Kurt and Merideon. They relaxed slightly. This could be to their advantage. It was well known that elves were possessed of fine archery skills, skills that they themselves lacked.

'I am Magnus, of the Red Wolves. This is Kurt Waldheim,' he gestured with his sword, 'and Lord Merideon. If your purpose here involves the gem you can forget it. It's ours.'

The elf smirked.

'Is that so?' With lightning fast reflexes the elf had notched an arrow to his bow and before Magnus could step closer the arrow had knocked the Blade of Leaping Gold clean out of the knight's hands. The blade fell to the flagstones with a clang.

'You have some superb shooting talent there, elf.' Kurt raised an eyebrow. 'Care to join us?'

There was a moment of tense silence. Legless analysed the three humans before him. They wore a mixed combination of armour and carried a variety of weapons. They looked like a ragged bunch, but they had substance. By their scars, their grim faces, and the cold look in their eyes, he could tell these were hard-bitten, fighting men. They were men he could learn to respect.

His life had been threatened many times while adventuring on his own. He was keen for that to end.

'Count me in, humans.'

The large, bare chamber had but a single table. Slumped up against the wooden article, was a foul-smelling body. By the odorous stench that filled the dank air, it could easily be identified as a zombie, some wretch who had been brought back from the dead to guard this vile place.

'He's mine,' Magnus roared, charging in. With a single blow he sent the rotting head spinning across the room, the corpse collapsing in a pile of foetid flesh and decaying body parts. As Magnus turned away, his gold blade slick with blackish filth, something shiny fell from the zombie's hand. It bounced across the stones before finally came to rest beneath the table. 'Come on. Time to claim that gemstone.'

'Indeed,' Kurt snapped, striding through the tall, elaborate doorway with golden batwings.

A short corridor filled with the bones of fallen warriors marched up to another grand doorway. The lintel was decorated with dancing spectres, waving scythes and grinning madly.

For a moment it crossed Kurt's mind that this could be the entrance they weren't looking for. After all, this was the barrow of the Witch Lord. But Magnus was storming forward, battering at the door with his shield. The wooden portal wouldn't last long before his strength. Merideon too, had come to that conclusion and was hastening to stop the knight before it was too late.

'Magnus, did it ever occur to you that…'

He was drowned out by a crack and the following burst of rotting wood as the doors collapsed under the impact of Magnus' shoulder barge.

'Magnus, no!'

Too late, the knight had crossed the threshold and entered the room.

There was a flash of power as a magical web that sparkled and crackled with iridescent energy burst into existence. Kurt and Merideon hovered on the doorstep, horrified. There was another flash as the barrier disappeared forever.

The spell was broken.

Legless backed away slowly. The humans had done the unthinkable. How…human of them.

A sinister laugh broke through the atmosphere, filling it with dread. The air turned dark, and the torches dimmed in their wall-sockets. Against the eerie light, the stone lid of a gigantic tomb was silhouetted against the far wall. It was moving.

'Fools,' a voice rang out, one that spoke with darkness and held the promise of eternal damnation. The companions could only freeze in terror as their deed took hold. 'I thank you for this though. Through your actions, you have freed me. Once more, I live!'

With an apocalyptic explosion of sparks the lid of the sarcophagus was hurled against the wall, smashing into a hundred fragments. A skeletal figure clad in threadbare robes climbed from the depths within, his limbs moving with agonising slowness. Two glowing orbs burned with hellfires within his skull, beneath a great horned helm. His hand reached out towards the warriors, spitting bolts of death.

The Witch Lord had awoken.

'Retreat! Get out of here!' Merideon shrieked, already fleeing down the corridor. Kurt wasted no time in following, his boots ringing on the flagstones. Legless was already back in the main room, but with a burst of black earth and shattered stone the floor thrust upwards.

Skeletons rose from beneath like the resurrection of some dead bodyguards buried with their master long, long ago. Vicious combat ensued as the trio was plunged into battle.

The ring of steel echoing behind him, Magnus stood transfixed in pure terror. The Witch Lord held him in his thrall, the burning eyes boring into his very soul. Arms raised, the undead master gathered energy to his fingertips. Already he could feel the life force of this human. He could nearly taste the rich, warm blood pumping through his veins, see the ever so fragile candle of mortal existence blowing in the wind. Now, it was time to snuff that candle out and regain his powers as the most powerful lord of the Undead save immortal Nagash.

In a blast of devastating power, the Witch Lord unleashed his deathly magic. Bolts of evil force slammed into Magnus' body, throwing him against the wall. The energy bathed him in its all-consuming agony, lightning jumping across his armour. More and more bolts struck him, tossing him up and down, casting him about the chamber like a broken doll.

'You should not have released me from my slumber!'

Back in the central room, Kurt slashed down another skeleton with a horizontal swing. Bones clattered to the floor as Merideon dealt a killing blow to another's skull, shattering the fragile shell and causing its ribcage to explode with a spray of splintered bones. With his arrows useless against the undead threat, Legless had pulled out his sword and had joined the others in close combat. His blade scythed through the skeletons with ease, cutting through their joints.

'Are we done,' Kurt spat as he dispatched the last skeleton and crunched its skull beneath his boots.

'Looks like it,' Merideon sighed, 'come on, we've got to find a way out of here!'

'What about the Star?' Kurt wasn't going just yet. The gem would be worth thousands.

'Stuff the Star! My life is in danger!' The noble's response was quick and harsh.

While the two humans were engaged in bitter argument, with not a thought for the life of their comrade Magnus, Legless spotted something round under the table beside the zombie corpse. It shone with an unearthly light. Immediately, he knew what it was.

Time was short. Glancing around, he saw the flashes of power lighting up the far corridor. A pity about the warrior, he thought as he dived and swept up the Star of the West. He could have been useful. But humans had their limitations. He shrugged, and began searching frantically for a way out other than the one they had come in by. As Kurt and Merideon started towards the other door he ran his hands across the wall and breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of a faint click.

'Idiot humans! The way is clear! Follow me!'

'But the Star of the West,' Kurt continued his debate, glaring at the elf. 'We must…'

'I have it! Now, come on!'

A huge slab of stone was sliding across in the wall. Legless vanished into the opening.

There was a pause, then the two men dashed after the elf. Their flight was assured.

The pain was increasing. His life force was being drained from his body. Lightning bolts that laughed with the faces of the damned coursed through his body, filling him with soul-wrenching agony. He could feel his spirit being dragged away, his life flashing before him. His armour cracked and split, black energy dancing across its surface. Raw electricity crackled and leapt like miniature daemons preparing to feast on his soul. Now, he would die here. Alone, and unable to do anything about it. He felt immense frustration, anger, and rage at his helplessness. Was this how his story would end?

'I am yet weak!' The Witch Lord was bellowing. 'And yet I will destroy you! This is only the beginning! You…you are my first victim!' His laugh smashed its way through Magnus' mind, filling his every thought and forcing its way through his torture. 'And then, when your body is broken, I will raise you up and you will be my first soldier! Prepare to serve me in undeath!'

No, this is not the end of my story, he thought as more bolts of power sliced their way through his veins. This is not the end. With immense will, Magnus clutched at the sparkling crimson jewel around his neck. Come on, he thought, this was his only chace. He had to escape! At first, nothing happened. Then, with a bright flash, he was transported away.

The Witch Lord stared, aghast. Throwing up his arms, he roared his anger to the skies.

'No! You have deprived me! But not for long! I will destroy you! I will destroy you all!'

4


	11. Chapter 10: The Spirit Blade

X

The Spirit Blade

'Fools!' Siareth roared at the men. He seemed to tower above them like a god.

The Red Wolves stood behind the stables of the Golden Hind Tavern. Behind them reared the pine trees of Glintburg Park.

The warlock's eyes blazed with anger as he surveyed his underlings.

'Do you realise what you've done?'

For a moment Magnus met Siareth's fiery gaze and then looked down. He knew that he alone was responsible for reviving the Witch Lord. Why had he failed his master? His master? Why did he continue to follow Siareth? A dull pain began throbbing in his head.

'Well,' Kurt collected himself, 'we got the Star of the West. Do I get to keep it?'

Legless reached inside his cloak and pulled out the gem. He tossed it casually to Kurt. The outlaw quickly pocketed it with a satisfied smile.

'As promised,' Siareth snarled. He turned to Magnus. 'But you have placed us all in danger.'

'What do I care,' Magnus retaliated. 'You plan to doom my father's realm anyway.'

Instantly a burst of white-hot agony lanced through his body and he fell to his knees.

'It is for your own good, my dear Magnus.' Siareth's expression became one of charm.

Magnus was silent.

'Well, look at it this way,' Lord Merideon spoke up, 'How many peasants can say they survived the attack from an insane…'

'I am no peasant!' Magnus was furious. He sprang to his feet and drew his sword. Instantly Merideon had done the same. The two noblemen crossed their blades, prepared to duel. They stared at each other. Magnus glared with anger that surprised even himself, while Merideon's eyes held nothing but calculating coolness.

It was a tense moment.

'Enough of this, human filth,' Legless said carelessly. 'Is it not obvious what we must do? We must find the Spirit Blade, the only weapon capable of slaying the Witch Lord.'

There was silence. As he had broken so many other things, Kurt was the one to break it.

'Damn that. Can't we just go back to Aldenheim? We've got what we came for.'

'Who exactly are you anyway, elf?' Siareth demanded. 'I don't remember you.'

'Kurt Waldheim offered me the chance to join you. There is safety in numbers.'

'You are right. But what advantage would joining us give you?'

'If you don't mind, I will keep my own council, for now. My skills with the sword and bow are yours to command. For now.'

'Very well, I'm sure we can find many uses for your abilities.'

'I will find it,' Magnus sighed, lowering his blade. 'It was I who…I will recover the Spirit Blade.'

'Very good, Magnus. And you should be ashamed for your misdeed,' Merideon hissed.

'Silence, boy! What's done is done. Who will join me?'

There was another silence. Siareth narrowed his eyes. This was taking an interesting turn. The Red Wolves would recover the Spirit Blade, kill the Witch Lord and leave Glintburg in flames. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

Legless nodded his head.

'I'm with you.'

Kurt shrugged his shoulders.

'Well, there must be some wealth to be gained from such a venture.' He bowed his head slightly in Legless' direction.

Siareth smiled as Merideon, shaking his head slightly, crossed his arms.

'Looks like I've no choice but to accompany you chaps. After all, you need someone with sword skills. And a good gun.' He stroked his pistol lovingly.

'I have sword skills,' Kurt snapped.

'My swordsmanship outclasses the likes of you, I must say, Waldheim.'

'Oh really? Let's put that to the test.' Kurt drew his swords with a flourish.

'Not now, peasant. Save it for the orcs.'

Siareth strode between the bickering men and held out a handful of gold crowns.

'I must make preparations for our departure to Aldenheim. I suggest you hire out a cheap mercenary. You might need him.'

Kurt slipped down the dark alleyway. He had just departed from the Gambling Den, another fifty shiners safely added to his fat money purse. But he knew the grim-faced man knew that he carried the Star of the West. And that man was one of Glint's spies.

He would have to shed blood this night.

It wasn't long before the clunk-clunk of a wooden leg could be heard on the stone cobbles. The man had the sense to not carry a torch, Kurt realised as he spotted the silhouette from his hiding place in a darkened doorway. He could see the glint of steel. Perhaps the man wasn't so disabled after all, he thought. As the man got closer and closer, he drew his swords from their oiled scabbards, and prepared to spring his trap.

With a sudden rush, the outlaw sprang from the doorway, knocking the spy down. The man issued a groan as he hit the flagstones.

'Thinking of stealing my prize, you dog?'

'You'll never get away with…'

'Think again.' Kurt placed his boot on the man's chest, rolling him over. He twirled his orcish blade and thrust it downwards, pinning the man's wooden leg to a gap between the cobbles.

There was the sound of another man running towards them, and the flash of metal. Obviously the spy had brought backup. It was good, Kurt thought. More of a challenge.

He turned to face the attacker and with a ring their blades clashed. The fight was over then as Kurt's second blade tore through the man's throat. Without a sound, he collapsed in a heap.

'How pathetic,' Kurt spat. Turning back to the struggling cripple, he kicked him in the ribs with his iron-shod boot, producing an audible crack as bones broke. Then he stepped on the man's neck and pressed downwards.

'Nighty night, you lost the fight.'

A sickening crunch split the dank air.

From local citizens, they learned that the Spirit Blade lay in an ancient, ruined temple in the Black Mountains. It was not far from Barak Tor, no doubt awaiting should the Witch Lord be revived. Hiring out an elven mercenary by the name of Torstorm as a guide and a soldier, they trekked on foot and spent an uncomfortable two weeks sleeping on hard earth and amidst rocky outcrops.

'How further is this damned place?' Came the voice of Lord Merideon. 'My boots are getting worn down.'

The Red Wolves marched in single file along a rock-strewn, mountain path. To the right the mountainside stretched, like a vast wall, while on the left the path fell away, its edge a crumbling cliff. Torstorm led the way, followed by Magnus. Kurt was next, then Legless. Merideon brought up the rear.

'I'm sure they are, imperial,' Legless retorted. 'There's a time for whinging, and its not now.'

Merideon was about to respond when the party came to a halt.

For a moment Torstorm stopped, sniffing the air like a wild beast that senses danger.

'Not far now,' he grumbled, almost to himself. 'Not far now.'

Within the hour they had arrived at the temple entrance. It was overgrown with vines and creepers, a gash in the mountainside only recognizable as a doorway by the broken, stone columns on either side.

Four doors faced the party, leaving them with no idea which to take. After a verbal slinging match, Magnus decided on the furthermost doorway. As he booted it open, they could make out a passageway fading off into inky blackness. It was lit only by wall sconces. Two pairs of evil red eyes stared at them and a bestial growling began.

'I knew we picked the wrong doorway!' Merideon pulled out his pistol.

'No, we picked the right doorway!' Kurt unsheathed his swords and followed Magnus into the attack.

'Slice and Dice those bastards!' A hellish light came into Torstorm's eyes as he charged. It was time again to spill some blood. Before the Blade of Leaping Gold or the Bludlettin Sord could make contact, the knight and the outlaw were barged aside. Torstorm, his hair flying out behind him, launched himself upon the orcs. The first beast died as the elf's blade slashed bloodily through its torso. With a roar of rage, the other grabbed Torstorm and hurled him backwards. It raised its cleaver. But before it could strike the elf was back on his feet and darting around the monster. The sword bit deep, hacking into the orc's body and then thrusting its way through the spine in a gory display of destruction.

The walls in the narrow passage were painted with orc blood.

Suddenly, another roar split the air and a one-eyed monstrosity shambled down the corridor, waving an axe. Its mace tail whipped forwards, dashing Torstorm's legs from under him. Giving a snarl of his own, he leapt to his feet, dodging to one side as the axe imbedded itself in the flagstones. His blade shrieked through the Fimir's leg, sending it sprawling. Green blood spurted from the wound. Torstorm whirled his sword, blood flicking from its edge in filthy droplets. The next blow came upon the single eye, and then the monster's head was sliced from its shoulders.

As silence set in, blood dripped from where it was spattered on the ceiling. Magnus approached the elf warrior where he kneeled, his blade over his opposite shoulder.

'Who are you?'

The elf turned rose and turned to face him, breathing heavily. He raised his blood-slick sword and grinned, the light of battle fading from his eyes.

'My name is Torstorm. I am a warrior of Khaine. My purpose is to kill. Nothing more.'

'Sounds deep,' Merideon said casually. 'Now, can we just get on with this?'

The passage split into two, both ways vanishing into the darkness.

'I say we split up,' Magnus said gruffly. 'You, Kurt and Merideon, go that way,' he told Legless, 'Torstorm and I will take the other way. Any questions?'

'No sir,' Kurt mocked, before setting off down the passageway. Merideon was quick to follow, his rapier sliding from its scabbard. Legless nodded grimly to the knight, then melded with the shadows. That cloak was certainly a powerful artefact, Magnus thought.

'Coming, Torstorm?'

'Aye, human. Come. My blade thirsts.'

'That elf fighter, he is Druchii scum,' Legless mused as the trio of wolves prowled the lonely tunnels, every sense alert for danger. Occasionally there sounded the rumble of falling masonry where the ceiling was caving in.

'Druchii,' Kurt said. 'It makes sense I guess. His lust for killing…'

'What is this term?' Merideon was confused. 'A faction of religious significance?'

'The Druchii, human, are the twisted kin of the High Elves. They are totally evil.'

'This one, Torstorm, seems to be of such filth,' Kurt growled. 'He is not to be trusted.'

'I'll be on my guard,' the noble sneered.

Circumventing a column of dust and rubble, they continued exploring the abandoned temple.

The spear flew from the wall and clattered uselessly against the wall.

'Trap,' Torstorm murmured, kneeling and examining the wooden weapon. 'Careful. There might be more.'

The second spear trap was mere feet down the corridor. This time Torstorm caught its shaft as it sprung. He broke it across his knee with a sharp snap. Discarding the remnants, he motioned for Magnus to follow and they trudged on into the darkness.

'The bone-men will fall before our might,' Gorath the Fimir rasped. His two orc minions gathered close. 'Our weapons of steel are better than their cutting blades. And then the glowy blue sword will be ours! Come, let us kill!'

'Da bonies will die!'

But before they could act, the door was busted off its hinges as incredible strength impacted against it. As the dust cleared, two tall figures materialised. They were clad in armour, and strode across the splintered wreck with impunity.

'Die, intruders!' Gorath roared, raising his battle axe. A sword parried his blow and then another strike slammed into his side. He felt his life blood pouring from him. Before he could order his orcs forward, another blade punched through his crude armour and into his throat, cutting his jugular. He coughed blood and a red mist veiled his eyes. Then nothing.

A fountain of blood sprayed skywards to spatter the roof of the chamber. Shoving the corpse aside, Magnus thundered into an orc. The beast's dim wit realised it was being attacked and its blade came up to defend itself. Too late. The Blade of Leaping Gold stayed true to its name and leapt forth, cleaving the orc's head, like a pudding.

Simultaneously, Torstorm swept aside the other orc in a squall of blood. Hacking wildly, he broke the orc's weapon and hurled the beast across the room. It landed square in the middle of a wooden table, splitting it asunder with its weight. Before it could rise, Torstorm was upon it. His blade flashed in an overhead twirl before descending like a lightning bolt to impale the orc's chest. A death cry escaped the monster's throat as it died.

Four skeletons surrounded something that hovered in a cool, blue light. It could only be the Spirit Blade. Lord Merideon took aim and fired. The ball passed through a skull, dropping one skeleton and he bounded forwards, his rapier dancing a path across the floor. Another of the Undead crumpled in a heap of mouldering bones.

Kurt and Legless took care of the others. While the outlaw lashed out with his boots and fists, knocking the skull from lifeless shoulders and kicking in the ribcage, the elf split joints and vertebrae as his sword cut through the rotting marrow.

Merideon's hand hovered over the magical sword. Its hilt was encrusted with aquamarines and topazes. The blade created an azure aura, and ancient runes were written there.

'Merideon,' Kurt breathed, bones crunching beneath his boots. 'The Spirit Blade…'

'That's _Lord _Merideon,' the noble hissed, clutching the gem-studded hilt.

'Whatever you decide to call yourself,' Legless spat, 'it's time to go!'

The wooden trunk opened with an eerie creak. Scattered down at the bottom, covered in a thin layer of dust and rat bones, were no less than two hundred gold crowns. Each coin was individually smeared in grime. But that didn't put Magnus off. Rubbing one of his findings on his sleeve, he held it up to the lantern light to reveal the somewhat bloated head of Karl Franz.

'Now, what did I tell you? I was sure there'd be some treasure other than the Spirit Blade!'

Torstorm grunted something unintelligible in response.

The Red Wolves met deep amongst the pines in Glintburg Park. Lord Merideon held up the Spirit Blade, now cleaned and polished. It sparkled, emitting its cool blue glow of early morning.

'A fine blade,' Siareth remarked. Merideon held out the sword, hilt first, to Magnus.

'Here, it's yours for two hundred karls.'

'You have got to be kidding, lad. Give it here.'

Unwillingly, the noble handed the sword to Magnus, who wrenched it roughly from his grasp.

'Nice. It needs a scabbard though, that'll cost me some shiners anyway.' He practiced a few cuts and parries, twirling the blade. 'Beware Witch Lord. Soon you will again face Magnus Glint!'

'What of you, Torstorm?' Siareth asked the elf mercenary. 'Will you…join the expedition?'

Legless and Kurt shared a dark look.

'From what Magnus tells me, you have quite a talent in killing…things.' The warlock smiled.

'Well, if you'll excuse me, I'll be off to the Gambling Den,' Kurt said briskly. 'I'm sure I can get a lot more than I did out of that adventure.' He disappeared into the trees.

'Wait, Waldheim, I'm coming with you.' Legless rushed after the outlaw.

'I think…I will join you,' Torstorm rumbled after a pause. 'Yes, I'd like the chance.' His eyes glowed faintly with a strange light.

'Magnificent!' Merideon said nervously, eyeing the mercenary and brushing invisible dust from his shirt. 'Magnus, I'm off to the Pleasure Palace. Care to accompany me?'

'I will.' Magnus nodded, lowering the Spirit Blade. 'After I take care of this thing.'

'Glint's daughter, eh?' Lord Merideon gazed with wonder at the girl lying next to him. Her long, golden tresses spilled down around her shoulders and her eyes twinkled with amber fire. 'Gabrielle Glint, a nice name…that would make you…'

'What?' She snuggled up against him, causing the mattress of the four-poster to creak.

'Uh…nothing, I mean not nothing, it makes you…very beautiful indeed.'

'Thank you,' Gabrielle said softly. 'Although I do tire of my father's arrogance.'

'Do you?' Merideon narrowed his eyes. This could be advantageous. 'Have you, out of interest, ever thought about travelling?'

'Well, no. I mean everything I need is here. But it would be good to see beyond Glintburg.'

Merideon congratulated himself inwardly. Here was a prize worth more than any magic sword or arcane tome. He extended his hand and lightly caressed her cheek. Her skin was like porcelain, and matched her pearly teeth in that dazzling smile. She was a prize indeed. Who cares if she's Magnus' sister, he thought.

'Hmmm…well, I know a little place called Aldenheim. I think you'd like it very much…'

5


	12. Chapter 11: Return to Barak Tor

XI

Return to Barak Tor

The Witch Lord surveyed his undead minions. From the surrounding mountains he had gathered a small army of followers: the beginning of a new legion of the damned.

'Protect me,' he intoned, his balefire eyes glowing. The undead lord gestured, and the torches in their wall sconces flared up brightly. 'The mortals will pay for disturbing my slumber.' The zombies and skeletons shambled away, dispersing into the depths of the barrow.

The usual racket of shouting and guffawing men drinking galleons of beer drowned out the warlock's speech. His expression turned sour and with a flick of his wrist, he sent one of the drunk fools sprawling upon the floor.

'Stupid imbeciles, we should go elsewhere. I tire of this place.'

Outside, in the cool darkness, with the cold stars shining in the blackness above, Siareth surveyed his men. It could be the last time he saw them alive.

Kurt fondled impatiently with the hilts of his swords. The outlaw was eager as usual. Merideon's face was impassive, his eyes glassy, and his beard immaculately trimmed. A strange perfume Siareth had not noticed before seemed to linger about him. The warlock dismissed it and turned to the others. Magnus' jaw was tight, his confidence worn like a cloak. He was prepared to do what was necessary, driven by personal desire to slay the Witch Lord who he had mistakenly awoken. The elf was silent, a shadow, only half visible in the light. The darkness surrounded him and of his face Siareth could only make out the pinpricks of his eyes beneath his hood.

There was someone missing.

'Where's Torstorm?'

'He went off into the wilderness,' Legless said casually. 'Heading north, by the sounds of it. He heard a rumour that his son by his second wife might be alive. Don't ask, I don't know the exact details.'

Siareth shrugged. Torstorm was a mercenary, a hired killer. Druchii or not, his departure would not affect his plans.

'You now have the Spirit Blade. You know what must be done. Good luck. You'll need it.'

The wooden door swung open with a creak as Kurt turned the rusting handle and pushed it open. The stench of rotting bones filled the air. The passage, eerily lit by wall torches, beckoned the party into its deadly embrace.

'Well, someone's been doing the housework,' the outlaw muttered. He stepped through the doorway and rounded the corner.

Immediately the reason for the stench became apparent as a skeleton guard, swinging a scythe, lurched towards him. As the others piled into the corridor's narrow confinement, Kurt intercepted the monster's attack and sliced through the weapon haft with his second sword. The follow up cut slashed through the skeleton's neck vertebrae, spilling its grinning skull to the flagstones.

'Looks like the Witch Lord's actually trying to stop invaders into his realm.'

'Can't say I blame him,' Merideon sneered, 'after all, if I were imprisoned for thousands of years and then some blundering fool released me, I'd be all for taking full advantage.'

Magnus was silent.

Legless rolled his eyes and motioned to Kurt.

'Very well, Waldheim, lead the way.'

The passage split off into two, leaving the warriors with no idea which one to take. Both ended in shadow. Magnus gestured with his sword.

'Legless, you and Merideon take the right fork. Kurt and I will take the left fork. Shout out as loud as you can if you need aid.'

'And hope the distance doesn't muffle our voices,' the elf replied with a smirk. He and the noble disappeared down the corridor.

'Right,' Kurt turned to face the gloom ahead. He held out his swords in front of him.

'Let's put that Witch bastard back where he belongs,' the knight grunted.

The large doors stood ajar. By the flickering of the wall torches, Merideon and Legless could see the silhouette of the stone tomb.

'Damn, Magnus has the Spirit Blade,' Merideon hissed. 'We'll have to…'

'You don't really think the Witch Lord is in the tomb?' Legless' voice radiated mild disbelief. 'I think he would have…vacated that in favour of gathering his army of the dead.'

'Of course, how peasant-like of me to allow such thoughts.' Merideon strode forwards and slammed the great doors closed. 'There'll be no returning to bed for this scum.'

As the elf and the noble explored the dusty corridors, they soon found some differences in the dungeon layout. The table in the large, central room had been removed, passageways that were blocked the last time they had been here were now cleared, and Legless' secret doorway leading to the alternate exit had vanished.

'It should be here somewhere…' The elf mused as he ran his fingers along the walls.

'What does it really matter?' Merideon snapped, cleaning his rapier with an old rag. He gave the zombie's decaying body a good kick and sauntered over to where Legless was searching. 'We don't need another way out this time. This time we'll kill the bastard.'

'You can't be sure of that, human,' Legless replied. 'Never underestimate your foe.'

'Thanks, I'll keep that in mind.'

Suddenly, there was a dull rumbling accompanied by what could've been shouting.

'Is that what I think it is?' The elf turned and glanced towards the other wall.

'Only one way to find out.' Merideon closed his eyes and concentrated. His leather armour began to shimmer with a strange light, as if it was turning halfway invisible. Opening his eyes again, the noble walked towards the wall, and vanished. He had walked straight through solid stone.

'What in the name of the war-god?' Legless raised an eyebrow.

'I found it in a ruined barrow near here' came a voice and Merideon materialised through the wall. 'And very useful it is too.'

'Well, you saved it from the Wight who would otherwise be wearing it now. So, is there battle yonder?'

'There is,' Merideon pointed towards the far doorway. 'Sorry to abandon you, but combat awaits!'

Kurt once again lashed out with his swords, splitting skulls and kicking in rib cages. The Blade of Leaping Gold came into play in the capable hands of Magnus, shearing zombies in half and in the tightly packed ranks of the undead legions he couldn't miss. The foul odour was overpowering, and, like a bandit, Kurt had tied a kerchief around the lower half of his face.

'How many more of these things are there?' Magnus was getting sick of fighting the undead. From the other side the room, they poured through the doorway, a tide of filth and unwashed bodies.

'What the hell?' Kurt's eyes widened as Lord Merideon strode imperiously through the very wall, his sword flashing and dancing before him. Zombies fell like saplings in a storm, skeletons exploded in showers of rattling bones and the damned could not close with the furious noble.

Then a larger skeleton broke through the ranks. He wore a steel breastplate over a scarlet tunic with slashed sleeves and all the fashion of the Imperial court. In its hands it held a burning blue sword, its blade flickering with azure light. Its balefire eyes glowed dully, and all could see that it exerted its rudimentary will over the undead beasts around it.

'Ah, a duel!' Merideon shoved his way through the zombies and confronted the skeletal captain. 'Well met, warrior, prepare to meet your death.'

Smashing his minions from his path, the Wight cleared a circle around the combatants. It cocked its head, confused. The shambling hordes stopped fighting, and, taking advantage, Magnus and Kurt paused to watch the challenge.

'I mean, your…second death,' Merideon said hastily. 'Well, ha, enough words, have at thee!'

With a wordless roar, the duellists closed the gap between them.

Merideon's sword met the blue blade with a burst of sparks. He immediately stepped back and struck at the undead creature's sword arm. The blade passed through the joint and nearly caught the noble's blade. He retracted it as the captain lunged out with its free arm, attempting to grapple him. Feinting to the right, Merideon snarled, angry at his mistake and rolled his wrist, cutting down on the Wight's right forearm. This time the arm was severed, and with a bellow of rage, the Wight rushed at Merideon. Dancing back out of range, he used his sword to make two diagonal cuts.

There was a pause, and then the skeletal captain crumpled to the floor.

'Well, that was easy,' Merideon said casually, before stooping to pick up the glowing blue sword. 'Hmmm…interesting.' He thrust it through his belt and then realized he was surrounded by hungry zombies. 'Well, bring it on, you dogs!'

The Red Wolves plunged back into battle and the squelch of rotting flesh filled the air.

As the battle thickened, and the undead warriors slowly got to their feet again and again, the companions got separated in the swirl of bloody melee. Legless finally arrived and his longsword cut through limbs and severed arteries with the practiced ease of his race. But still the zombies struggled to their feet, and various bones reanimated into more skeletons, empowered by some unseen force.

Magnus hacked and slashed in wide arcs. He had no fear of hitting his friends, as they were spread out across the room. But with this many foes, he would be hard pressed to get through the next doorway and use the Spirit Blade. If that was where the Witch Lord enthroned himself. Glancing around, he saw that Kurt was standing closer to the door. He backhanded a zombie, cleaved another's head from its shoulders and shouldered aside a third. In the brief respite, he stabbed his sword into another's head. Letting go of his precious blade, he quickly unsheathed the Spirit Blade and raised it above his head.

'Kurt, look out!'

The Spirit Blade span, end over end, until it came to an abrupt halt in the doorframe. Magnus then retrieved the Blade of Leaping Gold and returned to his gory task.

'Take the Spirit Blade! Find the Witch bastard and kill him!'

On the other side of the room, beyond the shifting mass of zombies and skeletons, Kurt heard Magnus' request. He kicked a zombie's legs from under it, gashed a skeleton's collarbone, causing it to explode in a shower of bone dust, and sheathed the Bludlettin Sord. Then he reached over to the hilt of the Spirit Blade, and wrenched it out. The blade flared with its cool blue light, and instantly the outlaw used it on the closest zombie. There was a burst of blood and filth as the creature was destroyed. This time it was beyond being raised up again.

'Now that's what I'm talking about,' Kurt grinned. He turned and hacked a path through the undead towards the doorway.

The Witch Lord's throne room stretched upwards from what at first had appeared to be a false door. Now, seated upon a throne of gold and red satin, he was surrounded by his bodyguards: a mummy clad in rusting plate armour and a zombie dressed in ragged robes.

'Ha! Your pathetic,' Kurt spat. 'Is that all you've got?' He raised the Spirit Blade.

The Witch Lord's eyes gleamed with power. The air in the room turned frosty, and the doors slammed shut with a hefty crunch. Unworried, Kurt kept his gaze on the Undead lord.

'Little mortal. The time is ripe. I will walk the earth again, and you are my first sacrifice!'

A cascade of black lightning struck the outlaw, throwing him against the wall. The Witch Lord hadn't even moved a finger. Kurt was picked up as if by a great invisible hand and smashed down onto the floor with incredible force. Then his body was beaten by numerous blows, as if kicked and rolled by invisible boots. For minutes on end he was thrashed and crushed, his blood leaking out onto the floor and the air was filled with his cries of agony. All around the lightning flickered and danced, along with the evil melody of the Witch Lord's laughter.

The Spirit Blade fell from Kurt's grasp with a clang. As his body was picked up again and hurled against the wall, pain surged through him, like nothing he had felt before. He had never felt so much agony in his life. It burned through his mind like fire, his veins alight with chaotic energies. Silent and still, the Witch Lord' minions watched as their master wreaked havoc on him.

'You won't walk the earth again, rotting bastard,' Kurt managed to gasp through his pain. He reached forwards laboriously and grabbed the Spirit Blade's hilt.

'Oh, really? One thing is certain: you won't be alive to see my new reign!'

Kurt Waldheim was sent spinning through the air. He collided with the doors and smashed right through them, sending up a cloud of dust and splinters.

Evil laughter echoed both in the corridor and inside his head. Before he blacked out, he felt something soft brush past him and thought he heard the telltale sound of a swishing rapier.

'Waldheim. You must get up. You must kill the Witch Lord.' Legless finished tending the outlaw's wounds and shook his friend's shoulder. 'We were able to deal with the bodyguards.' The mental image of the mummy warrior's head exploding in a display of greyish, decaying brain matter flashed delightfully through the elf's mind.

'Kurt, listen to me,' came Merideon's voice. 'Get back in there, you peasant scum, and kill the Witch Lord!' There was a jovial light in his voice.

Kurt opened his eyes. His head throbbed like it was being punctured by a thousand needles. A faint clamour, the sounds of the ongoing battle with the zombies, rumbled in the background. He felt the wet, stickyness of warm blood on his face and knew it was his own. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. Rolling over, he spat heavily and winced as the glob of blood and phlegm revealed a broken tooth in its midst. Dragging himself to his feet, he lifted the Spirit Blade, and it seemed to send new vigour coursing through him. He looked to Legless and bowed his head slightly before turning his attention to Merideon.

'Peasant? At first it was fun,' he rasped, now…now it's personal!'

Suddenly a great darkness seemed to loom near the wrecked doors. It was like a giant shadow, topped with a wickedly horned helmet and glowing, orange eyes. Kurt's swimming vision came back into focus and he wiped the blood and sweat from his forehead. His breathing came heavily, and his legs nearly buckled beneath him.

'Here he comes. Waldheim, now is your chance!'

When the outlaw merely took a step forwards, Legless unhitched his spear and cast it forth. The spear punched into the Witch Lord's chest, pinning him to the wall.

'Insolence!' The Witch Lord bellowed. 'You will pay for this, mortals!'

Kurt's eyes flashed and he charged towards the struggling creature.

'You're going back to hell! Let me show you the way!'

The Spirit Blade came arcing down to strike its unholy foe.

There was a bright blaze of blue light, followed by an apocalyptic explosion that shook the corridor and brought down huge chunks of stone. Amidst the nova, the Spirit Blade bit deep into the Witch Lord's withered heart, searing his insides with magical fire. Kurt held onto the hilt tightly as the storm of energy howled around him, flickers of lightning and bursts of energy causing the passage to light up with a hellish glow. The Witch Lord's shrieks of rage split the air, and his body began to crumble. As Kurt watched the Undead master's robes and armour fell away in swathes of dust, followed by his rotting bones. Black swirls of energy circled up from the powdery remains and with one last howl of frustration, it was gone.

Kurt Waldheim collapsed to his knees. He dropped the Spirit Blade with a metallic clatter.

Legless and Merideon approached warily. Seeing his companions, Kurt seized up the Spirit Blade and got to his feet.

'Come on, let's go.'

As the three walked back down the corridor, Magnus emerged from the room ahead. He was covered from head to foot in gore.

'Well, don't you look a sight,' Kurt snarled, shoving the Spirit Blade at Magnus and pushing past. 'Keep your damned sword. I don't want it.' He disappeared down the passage.

'What was all that about?' Magnus was confused.

'Something about doing a heroic deed, I'd garner,' Merideon chuckled, following Kurt.

'Yes, I'd leave the questions for a while.' Legless winked from within the depths of his hood.

As the Red Wolves marched back to Glintburg, Kurt pondered on his deed. What on earth had he done? It disgusted him, and yet if he hadn't perhaps they would've all been killed. No, that wouldn't have been the case. Surely Legless or Merideon could've slain the Witch Lord. Why didn't he think of that? He could've easily passed the Spirit Blade to one of them and they could've done the heroic deed. He grimaced, kicking a loose stone over the edge of the pathway. It was a mistake he would not make again. Never again, he thought, never again.

'Wait till we tell everyone who killed the Witch Lord!' Magnus guffawed, striding along. Merideon and Legless fell strangely silent. 'I mean,' he continued, 'it was I who released him! It should've been me who brought him down. Oh well, I guess Kurt gets all the credit this time.'

'I wouldn't tell anyone, if I were you.'

Magnus turned to see the business end of a flintlock pistol aimed at his face. Kurt wasn't smiling. Behind him the elf and noble had their hands on their swords.

'Keep your blades sheathed, friends,' the outlaw snapped. 'I'm merely insisting that it remains a secret who destroyed the Witch Lord. Understand?'

'Of course,' Magnus gulped. 'Whatever you say.'

'You have my promise, Waldheim,' Legless spoke softly.

'And mine,' Merideon said, releasing his grip on his rapier. 'Your secret's safe with me.'

'Good,' Kurt growled, putting up his pistol and holstering it. 'Let's get moving. I'm tired of these Border Princes. It's about time we returned to Aldenheim.'

The Golden Hind reverberated to the sounds of the Red Wolves victory cheers.

'Here's to the Red Wolves!' Siareth raised his tankard.

'All for one,' they chanted in unison, 'and every man for himself!'

As the men drank, ate their fill, and drank some more, Siareth analysed their situation. At first the plan had been to come back simply to eliminate Gulthor and retrieve Orcs Bane, but now, with the Star of the West, and the invading Orc hordes, they could bring about the doom of Glintburg all the sooner. The Witch Lord venture had simply been an inconvenience. But now that it was over, the Red Wolves could get of here and leave Glintburg in flames, as he had promised. And then, with Aldenheim fortified and an army gathered, the Red Wolves would really be in business…

6


	13. Epilogue: Glintburg Blazing

Champions of the Deep Destiny of Shadow _Scribed by Brother Andyn_

Epilogue:

Glintburg Blazing

Glintburg was blazing. The flames danced like hungry daemons, to a backdrop of brutal war cries and shattering glass. Occasionally, a savage explosion sent a burst of sparks up into the night sky. High above, the cold stars shone down upon the scene of devastation.

The Orcs had poured from Whitewater Gorge like a tide of green-skinned death. Nothing stood against the horde. It had crushed Glint's army like a tidal wave against a sand castle. Broken and defeated, the man had fled back to his city, there to await his end. Divided and isolated, the other cities in the path of annihilation were razed: crops were burnt, buildings were destroyed and populations had been put to the sword. It was grim and bloody. Hundreds died as the Orcs marched west through the forests and across the plains.

Magnus Glint stood in the remnants of his treasury. Around him the walls shook violently, dust and rubble descending from the ceiling and portraits depicting the personalities in the line of Glint falling to the floor. The bodies of seven orcs lay at his feet, his sword slick with their blood. Staring regretfully at his treasure, he tightened his jaw and wished the circumstances had been different. He had amassed all this wealth for nought: open chests filled to their brim with gold crowns, magnificent weapons and gleaming pieces of armour. There were artefacts stolen from nobles in the Empire, relics taken from tombs in Araby, even magical items enchanted by the elves and dwarves. All this would fall into the hands of the orcs, unappreciated and wasted.

There was a particularly fierce tremor, and a huge chunk of the ceiling came crashing down. It cracked the floor two feet from where the Prince stood, spattering his face with shrapnel, but he was unmoved. What was the point in running now? The orcs had fallen on Glintburg like wolves on unprotected lambs. He had already lost his army, or rather what was left of it. The walls had fallen before the might of their war machines. Even now their rock lobbers pounded the buildings with massive stones. Their archers were countless, more than a match for Glintburg's skeleton guard. The apocalypse had come.

Suddenly the door swung open to hang crazily on its hinges. A tall, armoured figure rushed through and, not sparing a glance in Glint's direction, began to rummage through the amassed riches. He wore a feathered helm, and a familiar shield was strapped to his left arm.

'Magnus!' Glint roared, coming to his senses. 'Magnus, my son! You've returned?'

The figure snatched up a heavy, lion skin cloak and flung it over his shoulders before replying.

'Hah. I knew I'd find you here. Your home's crashing down around you, and you come to pay your last respects to the only thing you care about.'

'My son…if you had come back sooner…'

'What of it?' Magnus narrowed his eyes.

'The Star of the West…we could've prevented this from happening. I sent out men…'

'They're probably dead. The gem was well defended,' Magnus said before he realised what he'd said.

'What? What do you mean? Did you get it?'

'Uh…'

'Well? If you retrieved it, why didn't you give to me? I could've united the…'

'Someone else recovered it. There was nothing I could do.'

The look on Glint's face was one of pure outrage.

'Your home, Magnus, my son, your home was in danger. And you stood by…'

'I did not stand by!' Magnus bellowed at his father.

'Then why didn't you get it? Why is this happening?' Glint gestured at the shaking room.

'Look, just get out while you can,' Magnus said gruffly. 'Just go. Goodbye, father.' He turned to leave.

'Magnus!' Glint's eyes burned with anger. He took a step forwards. 'What a terrible son you've been to me. I knew you for the son of a bitch you were as soon as you left Glintburg.'

'Don't call her a bitch, you cur,' Magnus snarled, turning back to his elder. 'When she died all you did was mourn the gold she would've got for you in far-off Bretonnia.'

'My own son, a traitor,' Glint gritted his teeth in an evil smile. 'Traitor to Glintburg, traitor to his own family, traitor to his home. Well, my traitorous son, if there's one last thing I do, it will be to prepare my own son for the realm of Morr. It's where you truly belong!'

Magnus unsheathed the Blade of Leaping Gold as his father charged wildly towards him. Their blades clashed, and the pain ran up Magnus' arm. Glint certainly had a strong sword arm. Father and son struggled in a web of steel as they duelled amidst the debris, masonry plummeting around them. The walls shuddered with the impacts, threatening to collapse at any moment.

'I didn't want you dead!' Magnus shouted desperately over the din. 'It wasn't my fault!'

'Of course it wasn't,' Glint spat, his eyes glazed over in paranoia. He swung an overhead blow that Magnus was hard-pressed to parry.

'It was that warlock, Siareth! He has a…control over me, somehow. I can't…'

'Siareth? That scum? You surprise me even more, my son, working with that lowlife traitor.' Glint howled, realizing that Siareth's promise had come true. This was all the warlock's doing. Through manipulating others, the sorcerer had destroyed Glintburg. Giving another bestial howl, he attacked Magnus again, hacking downwards. Magnus parried, retreating slowly. He didn't want to kill his own father. Blindly, Glint slashed left and right, all sense gone from his mind now.

'You bastard traitor! Traitor! My own son helps to destroy my city!'

'No! Father! Don't do this!'

Magnus defended himself as best he could, driven back by the old man's assault. Sparks flew from their blades, cut, parry, slash and riposte. Soon their shields were dented even more and the chain mail of both men was ripped in a dozen places. Glint surged forwards and bashed Magnus with his shield, sending him stumbling backwards. As his sword came arcing down, the Blade of Leaping Gold rose to meet it with an ear-numbing clang. The Prince discarded his shield disdainfully and seized his own blade up two-handed. Like a berserker, he hacked and hewed with all his strength. Magnus responded with brutal skill, sweeping aside the blows whilst trying to remain calm. One accidental cut was all it would take.

'The line of Glint ended! By one of its own!'

As the battle raged outside, and the fires consumed the city, the last men in the line of Glint fought with unrivalled fury.

Gabrielle Glint screamed as the ceiling came crashing down behind her. She rushed down the corridor, leaping down the stairs and heading towards the main doors. She had to get out of this place. She would find Merideon, if he was still in Glintburg, and together they would escape.

When the attack had begun, she had known it was the end. Exchanging her dress for riding gear, she had prepared supplies and what weapons she could get hold of. It seemed that she would be seeing the rest of the world sooner than she expected.

As she entered the foyer, the doors burst open and a horse reared up in the opening. There was a man on its back, clad in the leather of the aristocracy. He held a bloodied rapier in one hand. It was Lord Merideon.

'Gabrielle! Come! We must leave this hell hole!'

Without further hesitation, the girl shouldered her pack and rushed across the cracked floor before scrambling up onto the horse, behind the noble. This was not the time for sidesaddle. Merideon turned his steed and kicked it into motion as a gigantic chunk of rock smashed into the keep's roof. If Magnus was still in there, he would have to hurry. It was only a matter of time before the entire keep came crashing down.

'Yarr!'

As the pair rode away, the main entrance collapsed in a shower of rubble and masonry.

Kurt Waldheim stabbed the man in the throat. Blood leaked from the fatal wound, and then spurted as Kurt removed his knife. The death meant nothing to him. It was just another life taken in a history of bloodshed. As the body crumpled, he pulled it down from the horse and swung himself up into the saddle. Checking his gear, he gave the Star of the West a brief polish. How ironic, that the artefact that could have turned this defeat into a victory was still in Glintburg, so close to the Prince and yet far from his reach. Grinning coldly, he turned the horse's head and took off in the direction Merideon had taken.

'Coming, Legless?'

'I'm right behind you,' came the voice of the elf as he pursued the galloping horse. Soon the mounted outlaw and the scout had disappeared beyond the melee of fighting men and orcs.

'Stop this! You can get out! You can escape!' Magnus shouted at his exhausted father.

'There is no escape for me, son,' Glint hissed. 'My life was here, my place was here!' He swung his sword again, but Magnus casually battered it aside with a flick of his blade. The room was collapsing around them. The windows had long since been smashed, huge holes gaped in the walls and the stench of orcs and burning flesh wafted in from outside. The black velvet of the sky could be seen through gaps in the roof. Glint's eyes flared wildly as he lifted his sword again. The blades slammed together, sending shock waves up the arms of both men.

'I will die here, yes. But as my last act, I'll take you with me!'

'It doesn't have to be like this! Yes, I despised you, but it doesn't have to end like this!'

'Oh believe me, son, it does. It's too late now!'

A sudden shudder sent Magnus reeling. He tripped on a fallen section of wall, falling onto his back. Cursing, he realised his father had manoeuvred him into a bad position. As he struggled to get up, Glint stood over him, sword raised above his head.

'I'm sorry, my son, but now you die!'

Another vibration ripped through the building, and a rafter tore free from the wrecked ceiling. As Glint's sword came scything down, the wooden beam impacted on the old man's pauldron. It knocked him down and pinned him to the floor. His sword leapt from his hand. He roared in agony, unable to move. Breathing heavily, he reached out for Magnus.

'Son, help me!'

Magnus slowly picked himself up, brushing off his lion skin cloak and picking up his shield. He sighed, and looked towards his father. The Blade of Leaping Gold shone with an inner light.

'Ungrateful wretch,' he snarled. 'Why should I help you now?'

'Magnus, my son, help me!' Glint struggled. 'Your father needs you!'

Magnus stood, unmoving. Thoughts battled in his mind. He was confused. Before he could choose what to do, a robed figure materialized in the doorway. It carried a crystal-topped staff.

It was Siareth.

'You!' Magnus roared, not unlike a lion. Forgetting about his father, he raised his sword, and charged. 'This is all your doing! Now, you will finally pay!'

The warlock smiled. With a wave of his staff, Magnus was sent sprawling. Flickers of power began to build around him. It crackled and spat, bursts of sparks exploding around the room. Siareth's eyes faded into white orbs. Without warning, a column of white fire shot up from the floor to destroy the remains of the ceiling. It stayed there, like a gigantic pillar. Rubble, treasure and even the bodies of the orcs were drawn, swirling, up into it. Magnus stared, mesmerized.

Then Siareth struck out, a bolt of power lancing into the beam pinning Glint down. The beam slammed down into the Prince's heart, crushing all life from the man in one blow. He gave a last cough of blood before his body lay still.

'No! You bastard!' Magnus clambered to his feet. He strode up to Siareth, his sword raised to strike. 'Now, you, Siareth…'

The warlock's eyes faded back to normal as the pillar of white flame dispersed. With another wave of his staff, Magnus was thrown backwards. He crashed into the wall, agony coursing through him. Gritting his teeth with pain, he struggled upright.

'You are still mine, Magnus Glint,' Siareth sneered. 'Now, come. We're leaving for Aldenheim.'

As the warlock vanished, Magnus wondered if he would ever be freed from Siareth's will.

4


End file.
